8Sided Blog

a zine about sound, culture, and the punk rock dream

Innerwoud: Comfortable Obstructions

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My conversation with Belgian musician Pieter-Jan Van Assche began with a correction. I misidentified his main instrument as a cello when the truth is it’s a symphonic double bass. That’s an important distinction. As performed solo in Pieter-Jan’s Innerwoud project, the double bass is the largest and deepest-toned string instrument in an orchestra. Outside of an orchestral context, you’ll also find the double bass in the hands of bassists in jazz, retro country, and rockabilly genres, commonly referred to as ‘stand-up bass.’ As Innerwoud, Pieter-Jan’s approach draws more from the symphonic side, reflecting his lengthy background with the instrument in that context. But he also takes it into unexplored territories through a minimal but striking application of effects pedals, production techniques, and an avant-gardist mindset. 

Innerwoud’s latest and second album, Furie, shows the possibilities of an instrument considered limited at first glance. Predictably, the lower-end frequencies dominate. But there are also unexpected layers that resonate in the upper range, as well as percussion from the body of the double bass and an affecting variety of dynamics. There’s a danger that all these bass notes would result in sonic muddiness, but the attentive direction of Pieter-Jan and the engineering skills of Tim De Gieter (from the band Amenra) make Furie sound spacious and detailed. 

“Raseri,” Furie‘s first track, is a 14-minute showcase for what Pieter-Jan sets out to accomplish with Innerwoud. Many of the double bass’s tonal possibilities are present, from gentle plucks to forceful scrapes and from mournful bowing to some of the higher notes available to the instrument. It’s tempting, especially when dealing with the low end of the aural spectrum, to focus on an inherent feeling of melancholy. But Pieter-Jan notes that even though “Raseri” and the album as a whole reflect fears inspired by the modern age, the listener can also hear the hope inspired by his newborn daughter. The album’s title, Furie, directly references this daughter and Pieter-Jan’s wish that she grows up to become a ‘furious woman’ in the face of the world’s obstacles. 

Despite the awkward start (no disrespect to the double bass!), Pieter-Jan and I had a fantastic conversation. We spoke about the creative importance of framing one’s surroundings, the challenges of making art at home, how Pieter-Jan’s process is like Lars von Trier’s Dogme 95 games, and, in the transcribed excerpt below, why choosing to limit himself to the double bass was liberating. Listen to the full interview in the handy audio player and enjoy. (Quick note: the prolific author whose name I couldn’t recall in the interview audio is Terry Pratchett. And he’s not Scottish, so I made another mistake.)

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MD: I was reading your press release, and it explains that you decided to only use the cello for this latest release because of its ‘endless possibilities.’ And I thought that was interesting because most people would see it the other way around, that you’d be limiting yourself.

PJ: First of all, it’s a double bass. 

MD: I’m sorry. (slumps a bit) Yes.

PJ: No problem. But, in my opinion, it’s an important difference. The strings are even longer on double bass. And, of course, the piece itself, the wooden frame … your soundbox is way bigger. It’s like four cellos. You have more textures to experiment with. But it is more challenging to start with a limit, like an obstruction in my case, to use only one instrument. It is tempting to add more because I can play other instruments. Sometimes I’m like, “Hmm, this could work. I have this sound in my head that could really work to fill the hole.” But instead of grabbing a guitar or a synthesizer, I look for [a similar] sound on the double bass. You have such low tones, and you can have these high-vibrating melodies, as well. It’s really satisfying when the sounds that I had in mind come out of it. You have these layers, and it works like I hoped it would … then it’s satisfying for me that it was just a double bass.

MD: To me, it’s a constraint. You set rules for yourself in the recording of the album, But it’s counterintuitive. It turns out there’s a lot of freedom in constraints. Too many choices are actually restraining.

PJ: Exactly, Having this obstruction, this restraint for myself, makes me feel comfortable. I don’t have to worry about other possible sounds. When I go to the studio, I’m recording with Tim De Gieter from Amenra, and he has all this gear — really nice guitars, modular synths, and the craziest effect pedals. So it’ll be tempting to grab one of those and add a little layer, a little pinch of salt to the double bass. But for me, it’s the closing down of options that makes me work comfortably. It’s a rational thing, but you could almost compare it with Lars von Trier, who made this series of obstructions he invented for his students. 

MD: I’m familiar with that, yeah.

PJ: Exactly. And it resulted in the Dogme movement. Only free-hand camera. And then only one take or whatever. There were a lot of obstructions. I don’t know them by heart anymore. 

MD: I always like “no guns.” I thought that was a really good one.1The actual rule is “The film must not contain superficial action (Murders, weapons, etc. must not occur).”

PJ: Yeah, indeed. It had to be real. And there were some weird rules among them. But with me, it’s less weird, and I’m not wanting to make it hard for myself. I don’t really need the challenge, but it’s good to limit myself. To get the maximum out of what I had planned. For example, I can only record in a studio. Most solo artists have a little home studio, and they can do a lot themselves. I have one, as well, but I almost never use it. I need the framing of a studio to work. And a lot of the music I’ve written happened during a soundcheck for another performance or otherwise on a stage because there was this vibrance, this lightning. And in my small room here in our house, I only do the bare necessities. I just do some technical preparations. I write some extra layers. But I usually also go into the studio the night before recording. I need these frames to work in. The studio and the stage are frames, but so is choosing only the double bass.

MD: That’s interesting because I know a lot of musicians who, during the lockdown and working from home, have that problem. They lose a frame that they can’t replicate at home. 

PJ: Exactly. I didn’t make a COVID record. Furie was recorded afterward. 

MD: Well, this would be the opposite because you are going into a studio rather than doing it at home.

PJ: Yes, and when I’m at home, I’m not very productive. I’m not creative at home because it’s where I live, sleep, cook, and take care of my wife and child. Music is a part of our lives, and there’s always music playing here. But it’s quite rare that I say to my wife, “I’m off for a couple of hours. I’m going to my music room.”

MD: I think finding creativity at home is a really common problem, and not just during the lockdown. I have that problem, definitely. I have a room, the room I’m in now, and I try to only do work here with the idea that I come in this room to hopefully get in a ‘work’ frame of mind. But it rarely works that way. I mean, I know that I can grab a snack anytime from the refrigerator just several steps in that direction.

PJ: Exactly. I use the music room as an office as well for my other job. But now I’m doing laundry, and I can hear the machine. I read this interview with a young writer in Belgium, and she rented an apartment in the city of Brussels while she also lived in Brussels. She rented it for one year to write a novel which turned out to be quite a fine one. She traveled each day, like 20 minutes by bicycle, to the apartment. And I was so into that. I could completely understand why that worked for her. 

MD: But people are totally different. I also know of those who have no problem. A friend of mine was on a plane flight going from Bogota, Colombia, to Buenos Aires, which is a very long flight. By chance, he happened to be sitting next to the music producer BT. My friend said as soon as BT sat down in the window seat next to him, he pulled out his laptop and his headphones and was working on music from the moment the plane took off to landing. 

PJ: Impossible! I would be staring through the window for 16 hours. 

→ Innerwoud’s latest album Furie is now available from Bandcamp and all the streaming places.

Jogging House: Feels Like a Good Revenge

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I’ve covered Jogging House on the blog before. My introduction to Boris Potschubay’s strangely beautiful music was through his 2019 album Lure. Then, I called his music “a quiet resistance,” not far from a couple of phrases Boris uses in the interview transcript below. His music evokes the feeling of an earlier time — the warmth of childhood, perhaps — while projecting that feeling into the future. Thus, Jogging House’s music is both nostalgic and hopeful. It doesn’t just look back and say, “life felt better then.” These songs also tell us, “it can feel nice like that again.”

I love Boris’s sonic aspirations of a “peaceful revolt.” The idea steeps resistance in a bath of optimism and supports my belief that there’s no role for nihilism in the esthetic exchange. Why fight if there’s no peace in our future? Why create art if there’s no utopian vision? What’s the artist’s role if it’s not to imagine possibilities? Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but these questions hum inside my head after I listen to Jogging House’s recent album, Fiber. 

Boris’s output as Jogging House is prolific (he’s released at least one more album since this conversation), but it’s never samey. The songs may seem to blur together if you listen to them separately, such as compiled randomly in a ‘chill out’ playlist or when the shuffle switch is on. But Jogging House makes albums, and these are meant for top-to-bottom listening in a single sitting. Fiber is especially effective as it ebbs and flows like the ocean tide photographed for its cover. The warmth of Boris’s chosen tones and his loose, hardware-based method is a tight thread that ties his sound together, but each track has its own story.

At long last, I spoke with Boris of Jogging House about his creative process and inspirations. We talked a lot about names — how he sees his artistic ‘job title’ and, as in the transcript excerpt below, what he wants his song titles to evoke in a listener. But we also talk about making music with loops, the marketing necessity of process videos, the learned restraint in his music and life, and how hip hop is still Boris’s favorite music. You can listen to our entire conversation in the embedded audio player. Please enjoy.

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JH: There is something reflected in the titles of my tracks. Sometimes it’s like the ocean. It’s just what the sounds make me think of at that very moment as I make the music, and then I often have some weird picture in my head. It’s like a memory that I never had. The sounds remind me of something, but not a specific thing. It’s not a real memory —just something that pops into my head when I listen. It could be anything, really.

MD: That’s interesting to hear that the titles do relate to memories evoked by the songs.

JH: Yeah, or feelings. 

MD: “Okay” is a funny song title. And “Revenge.”

JH: “Revenge” is my favorite title. Definitely. It’s one of my favorites in a while. I’m actually surprised that I didn’t pick it earlier.

MD: So the song made you think of revenge,

JH: Yeah, kind of, because the song is … I mean, it’s not a revenge. It doesn’t have anything ‘revenge’ about it. It’s very peaceful, I guess. I don’t remember the exact day, but I was probably annoyed by something. And, of course, making that song didn’t change anything, but it still felt like a good revenge. Maybe it was a sucky day, but still, I got that track out of it. It’s like the peaceful revolt idea of revenge, the quiet revolt. But it’s such a strong word. I need some contrast. I like to have these strong, almost visceral track names matched with something peaceful. I really like that combination. I find it interesting.

MD: The titles remind me of the Talking Heads’ Fear of Music album. “Air” and “Animals.” And “Paper” is a song title. But with David Byrne, the reason the song is called “Animals” is because he’s singing about how cool animals are.

JH: I like basic, minimal ideas based around these one-word titles. I like to be vague. I think if you give half a sentence as a title or “I Love You” or something like that, it becomes deeply embedded. The title steers the perception of the track in a specific direction. If it’s vague, the title can be a strong word but without any context, like “Revenge,” for example. But I think it’s impossible not to have any connotation when you read it without the music. If you read the word on a piece of paper somewhere on the street, it evokes some sort of feeling for you. It’s a very human thing.

MD: Right.

JH: But it could still mean anything. A million or a trillion stories could have revenge in them, and they would be all very different. So it’s something that is strong but without any sense of direction. Revenge against whom? I don’t know. It’s completely up to you what you think of this. It’s the same if I call something “Fire.” You have a million images. You could imagine lighting a candle or burning your house down. It can go from simple and charming to absolutely horrible and destructive. It’s completely open. The word itself is very strong, but it’s without context.

MD: But then the music adds a hint of context.

JH: Yes, maybe. Maybe.

MD: It’s like you see this title “Revenge,” and, as you said, your first thought is, “This is a harsh word.” A person comes up with their own ideas of what revenge is to them. And then they listen to the song; it colors their interpretation of how you may be using this word. It’s still their own interpretation because there’s no way the listener is going to know your story about feeling angry on the day you wrote it. So it’s almost like the idea of the ‘third mind,’ if you know about that concept.

JH: No, I don’t. 

MD: This artist and writer, Brion Gysin, came up with this with William Burroughs. It’s the idea that when two people collaborate, they create a ‘third mind.’ But you can take it further in that you don’t need another person. In their case, it was cutting up words and text and rearranging them, and finding inspiration from random things. You create a ‘third mind’ through that. So, basically, the ‘third mind’ generates ideas that would not have appeared without the juxtaposition of two elements. It’s almost like you’re summoning that concept a little bit if people listen to it that way. But, obviously, some people aren’t going to pay attention to the titles.

JH: That’s also totally fine. I’m horrible with titles. I never know what a track is called. I have a hard time remembering track titles. So that’s completely fine with me. But I also like to give these tiny images, sprinkle them over the album. You might pick up on them, or maybe not. Maybe they will catch you off guard and make you think of something. Or maybe you think it’s just random words. That’s also completely fine with me. The only thing I don’t want is to give is a specific direction of what you should feel or think. That’s the only thing that I don’t want to do.

→ Jogging House’s Fiber and many other albums are available on Bandcamp and the streaming places. You can also watch illuminating videos of Jogging House making his music on his website.

San Mateo: A Layer of Hiss

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As San Mateo, Matthew Naquin makes the music of nostalgia, dreams, and expanding subterranean root networks. San Mateo’s latest album — Exspiravit Luminaria — features a digitalized tree in its cover art, eerily suspended with its roots hanging like tendrils. The image is a handy approximation of Matthew’s sound and modus operandi. Exspiravit Luminaria‘s music is steeped in earthiness but also exists outside the soil, floating calmly in an unnatural digitalness. 

I’ve wanted to have this conversation for a while. For the past few years, my fledgling imprint 8D Industries has helped to release San Mateo’s steady and always compelling output. In email exchanges with Matthew, he’s given hints about his process. There’s usually mention of self-imposed constraints, of limiting the music-making tools he has access to, and how each new album has an intentional difference from the previous one. Matthew was immediately on my mind as an interview candidate for this blog’s series of conversations about the artistic process. I’m glad to present our chat to you today.

Surprisingly (or maybe not), our exchange is full of laughs. Matthew shares my curiosity about the creative process and the philosophical question of how art works. Of course, it’s hard to talk about those things without a sense of humor. Other topics include dealing with past releases we no longer enjoy listening to, imagining sequenced music as played by ‘live’ musicians, why playlists suck (or not), the benefit of enforcing constraints, and, as excerpted below, the younger generation’s unexplained embrace of tape hiss.

You can listen to the entire conversation in the audio player. Enjoy! (Also, I apologize that my voice in the audio is a bit crunchy. Editing this inspired me to purchase a new, better microphone.)

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MD: So, some years ago, I found myself buying a sound set of various tape hisses.

MN: I’ve actually got a whole file folder of tape hiss that I’ve created. I bought stuff like that before I started making my own.

MD: Yeah, as I’m buying this thing, I’m thinking: the 18-year-old version of me is screaming right now. He has no idea what I’m doing, wanting to actually add tape hiss. Back then, I literally was losing sleep over tape hiss when I was recording, I could not figure out how to get a good sound without losing my high end, unintentionally adding tape hiss, and everything going crazy. 

MN: It’s amazing. Thirty years ago, everybody searched for sonic purity, and now it’s quite the opposite. Like you were saying, your 18-year-old self would be like, “You’ve got this perfect DAW that records at 24 or 48 bits. And now you’re adding hiss back in.” 

MD: I also have these plugins that add hiss. I mean, they’re great. They sound amazing, but it’s just hilarious to me. And I use them. I love ’em, and I use ’em. But it’s so funny how that thing has come around. Why is that attractive, do you think?

MN: I think there’s something about that, the organicness of it. I was actually pondering this the other day as I was feeding noise into my signal chain. In fact, I’m working on a track where I have an emulation plugin running in the background, adding hiss. There’s no sound actually being fed into it. I’ve just got the tape function turned on to feed a layer of hiss into the signal itself. And I was thinking about that while toggling it back and forth, on and off. And yes, it’s digital, it’s fake tape — whatever. But it opens up the mix in a way that it’s hard to define. It’s almost like a gut feeling or something instinctual, where it adds some of this organic layer to things. When it’s dry, you just can’t hear anything like that. Also, one of the things I like to do is stick a mic out my window and just record that. That’s it. I think I did this on Sonnet Ring and Deepstaria — there’s an underlying microphone feed running through the whole album on both of those. You might not be able to hear it or any street noise or anything like that, but it’s the same with adding tape hiss. It puts you there, somehow or another. It puts you in the room in a way that I think a sterile digital environment doesn’t allow. I don’t know; I’m just spitballing here. As I said, I was thinking about it just yesterday, how noise adds character that opens up the mix in a way that isn’t there when it’s turned off. It doesn’t feel as good, you know?

MD: Do you think this effect is emotional, like an emotional reaction or a nostalgic reaction?

MN: It could be, but then it’s very popular with this current generation, and they wouldn’t have grown up on that. I mean, I understand with vaporwave or something like that. That genre taps into more guttural, nostalgic things. But tape noise — I can’t imagine that many people in the younger generation into lo-fi music heard tape noise growing up. Maybe they did?

MD: I don’t know. It’s like that phenomenon that was around for a minute of music that sounds like it’s in an empty mall.

MN: Oh, yeah! 

MD: There was a New Yorker article about the phenomenon and how a lot of the people creating these YouTube channels are too young to have actually experienced a mall in its heyday.

MN: I wonder if there’s something that gets ingrained generationally. If your parents experienced the empty mall, there’s something in your genes somehow, that nostalgia or that emotion that gets passed down. (pauses and laughs) Probably not. But, yeah, they’ve never experienced this. They’ve never experienced tape. So why is it popular right now? What are they nostalgic for?

MD: And even adding crackle and vinyl record noise to digital songs. There’s an instrumental hip-hop label I do some work with, and half of their catalog is like that. The artists, who are all very young, add vinyl noise to their digital productions. It’s funny to me, but it’s also cool. But I do feel there is a sort of emotional, nostalgic appeal to tape hiss. I do think that because tape hiss won’t work on everything. And if you remove it from certain songs, your emotional feeling from those songs will be different.

MN: I mean, Boards of Canada created a career on it, right?

MD: But that’s where it’s almost like it’s being passed down. Boards of Canada are a great example because they obviously grew up with tapes and weird educational films and things that had sonic deficiencies in them. They added these defects to their music, which may have been because of an emotional feeling it gave them. This feeling then attached itself to their listeners. And then suddenly, you have new listeners who may not have experienced the original sources but still catching on to the feeling that, say, Boards of Canada originally felt. It’s almost like this cycle of audio nostalgia.

MN: Well, I mean, look at Stranger Things. I’m sure the bulk of its audience is probably people that didn’t grow up in the eighties. Well, I’m not positive, but I would bet that’s the case. The show’s very popular with a younger generation. And then the sound of Stranger Things, the synth lines and production, and all that stuff. There are kids that have never heard that. But it’s the whole intent of Stranger Things; to hit a nostalgic bone, right? It’s supposed to have an eighties ‘feel.’ So, yeah, maybe it is generationally apparent to a child. This makes me curious about what sounds will get used 40 years from now. What’s that going to be? Will producers still use tape hiss and vinyl crackle? I mean, when we’re that far out, will it be something else?

MD: That’s interesting. But it’s interesting, too, when you think about how trends come around. Something that’s really scary to think about for anyone our age is Stranger Things is basically to now as Happy Days was to us in the eighties. 

MN: I haven’t thought of it that way, but yeah, that’s … (shudders)

MD: I mean, as far as the era that was being depicted and the music that was in it. But it seems like the eighties look and sounds have more perseverance then, say, beyond bands like the Stray Cats as an example of fifties music emulated in the eighties. So I don’t know; it almost feels like there’s something else going on …

MN: And then there was that weird swing revival in the nineties.

MD: Which we don’t need to talk about. (much nervous laughter)

→ Exspiravit Luminaria, San Mateo’s latest album, is available now on Bandcamp and all the streaming places.

3+1: Many Pretty Blooms

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Many Pretty Blooms is the name of an evocative guitar-focused project from Austin inhabitant John Wilkins, known previously for his role as one-half of the duo FIRES WERE SHOT. Many Pretty Blooms have just released a gorgeous new album on Whitelabrecs, Bow & Clatter, and it’s a worthy accompaniment to falling leaves, breezy, gray afternoons, and the approaching winter. 

John works through the constraints of the acoustic guitar to arrive at deceivingly simple melodic passages and layered moments of textural wonder. Laptop-assisted treatments and subtle looping are a part of John’s technique, but he also reveals unexpected flourishes in the resulting compositions. John’s formative days as a drummer translate to a percussive fingerpicking style and a penchant for beating on the poor guitar’s body for a rhythm track. And, as the album’s title eludes, a small bow, like one used for a viola or cello, elicits unfamiliar sounds from the guitar’s strings. 

I call your attention to “Strange Motif,” a fine, hypnotic example of John’s six-string experimentation. Bowed guitars ebb and swirl to produce tones that one could describe as ‘gentle scraping.’ The musical sound isn’t far from that of an orchestra warming up, but only if all the musicians are instructed to do so quietly, pensively, and with perfect restraint. Contrast this with the following song, “Unknown Delaware,” which combines the gritty bow strokes with percussive chord tapping and a waltzing specter. It recalls traditional music but from somewhere off the map. So many styles and textures collide that it’s easy to forget all we hear is an acoustic guitar.

Bow & Clatter is such a pleasant and inventive ride. I wanted to learn more, so I nabbed some time with John Wilkins in Many Pretty Blooms mode for a bit of 3+1. 

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1. How does your background as a drummer affect how you play guitar? Do you still find inspiration from rhythm, even when composing or recording beat-less music?

I use repetition a lot in my recordings, which I’m sure is informed by my experience as a drummer. I’m also more inclined to take a classical approach to music than an abstract or “ambient” one, so there’s an underlying rhythm in the tracks. I’ve gotten into banging out little rhythmic patterns on the guitar body or playing brushed patterns on my knee. I’m in an experimental stage with rhythm at the moment.

Drums are still my favorite instrument to listen to and what I’m most comfortable playing; or, in the case of listening, it’s just what jumps out at me and what I’m most aware of. Funnily enough, my favorite music to listen to is mostly drum-less. Of course, drum kits present a mobility/volume issue, and my current and ongoing situation prevents me from really laying into them for extended periods. I’ve always been less than enthused about using drum machines and drum plug-ins, so I may start exploring quieter sounds from my kit in the future, using brushes, padded heads, etc.

2. From your press-kit: “Fade-outs are unfairly maligned. They are beautiful ways to end songs…” Please elaborate!

I remember seeing some Reddit post a good bit ago, a reaction by intellectuals asserting that fade-outs are lazy and unimaginative. This made me take notice of endings and think about them more carefully. I do believe the effect of a fade-out is dependent on the music. Still, I’m sentimental and find them to be like a close friend waving goodbye in the rear-view mirror as they get smaller and smaller until they’re finally out of sight (or in the case of fade-ins, a slow reveal of the good friend and the anticipation of seeing them again).

There’s poignancy there; anyone who enjoys William Basinski would agree, though they may not understand why at first. But I find the fade-ins and fade-outs of The Disintegration Loops to be the most appealing parts of those songs. 

3. Tell us about your earliest *significant* musical memory or recollection.

Growing up in Germany, the only music I listened to was Johnny Cash (his were the only records I owned) — my dad would bring home a used piece of vinyl every couple of months, it seemed. I was about 8 when my mom bought me a Johnny Cash guitar songbook (I still have that book!), and it inspired me to take a few guitar lessons from our neighbor. I would sit in our utility room with my music stand and that songbook, working out the chords and patterns for “Hey, Porter” and “I Walk the Line.” I remember it was not too long after starting the lessons I attempted to play and sing “Folsom Prison Blues” to my mom one morning while sitting on my bed. I don’t remember her exact reaction, but it wasn’t what I was hoping for. She was always very supportive, but her response that morning seemed to bother me for some reason. I still recall that early feeling of self-doubt and self-consciousness stemming from that event, and I didn’t play much after that until I was about 24. I’m glad I came back to it.

+1. What’s something you love that more people should know about?

There’s an album called Mend by Geotic — it’s a project by the same guy who does Baths; it’s one of my all-time favorite “ambient” guitar albums. Excellent use of the fade-out(!) and just beautiful, simple loops of nursery rhyme melodies and blown-out, moonlit atmospheres.

→ Bow & Clatter by Many Pretty Blooms is available now on Bandcamp and all the streaming places.

Elijah Knutsen: Inhabiting Faraway Places

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I’ve already spoken with Elijah Knutsen a few times, most memorably about his obsession with the Kankyō Ongaku sub-genre of Japanese instrumental music. I found his 2020 album Blue Sun Daydream refreshing and warm amidst an onslaught of darker ambient efforts and have followed his output since. There’s a simplicity to Elijah’s music, but his attention to space and defined spaces, as well as a narrative-like temporal motion, set his compositions apart. He mostly improvises his productions in the moment, but a longing for new surroundings inspires intentionality. Elijah’s need to inhabit distant locations is satisfied by approximating how visiting those places might make him feel, interpreted to you and me through music.

Elijah’s latest album is Maybe Someday, a pronounced step forward. Japan’s northernmost islands are the imagined destination, coupled with the background hum of loneliness. The guitar, which played a prominent role in Elijah’s pre-ambient music-making, returns to his production arsenal to add an audible Victorialand-like flavor to the album. Atmospheric recordings culled from Japan’s natural surroundings, rural towns, and everyday routines bubble in and out of the shimmering mist created by heavily processed synths and guitars. The effect is beguiling — playing Maybe Someday now takes the ‘home’ out of my home office. I feel like I’m writing this someplace else, someplace ideal.

In my last interview with Elijah, I primarily asked him about his influences and fascination with the artists of Kankyō Ongaku. Maybe Someday inspired a follow-up conversation focused on his music. So I get into it with Elijah about sonic world-building, the fun of imagining a mental space for music, how Google Maps comes into play, and even some guitar pedal talk. Below is a transcript of the first several minutes of our conversation, and you can hear the full 23 minutes via the handy audio player. 

(One quick note: at the end of my chat with Elijah, I enthusiastically recommend the writing, photography, and email newsletters of Craig Mod. You should check out Craig, too.)

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MD: I’m really into this concept of world-building through music — this idea that you can create spaces and imagine where it’s taking place, whether that place is a real place or it’s imaginary. It’s like the music has an environment around it or an implied environment around it. I’m fascinated with how you do something like that with field recordings. Do you think about that intentionally, about creating a transportive space?

EK: Yes, definitely. When I started my record label, it started with an art project. I took a bunch of field recordings, and I made this space with them, like a sound design project. I made this “room” where you’re in one part where in the recording, there’s like a fan to your right and a computer modem in front of you. I panned everything like that. I called it a Memory Room, and I would set its place and a date. The first one I did, I think, was set in Japan in the year 2003. I had a song from The Cure from their 2000 album playing on a little tinny boombox to the right. I was trying to build an environment where you could close your eyes and listen and imagine that you’re there. 

MD: Another thing that’s interesting is a lot of these places that you’re imagining — or at least recently on this album and in what you just mentioned — are in Japan. I think we talked about this, that you haven’t been to Japan.

EK: No. 

MD: So, it’s like a specific place you’re evoking, but you’re transporting yourself as well as the listener.

EK: I’ve just been fascinated with Japan for a while. The music that comes from there is different from what I’ve heard in terms of like ambient music or experimental music. The culture there is different, too. It seems more introspective compared to what we have in the U.S. And I think that’s something that inspires me.

MD: Your music is obviously very introspective. And the spaces that you create, your instrumentation’s sparse. But at the same time, it’s like there’s a lot going on with all the layers and the way the music flows. In your press release, you use the D-word — you say “drone” —but to me, it’s not really that at all. 

EK: No. I agree. 

MD: I’m not criticizing that you’re using that word, but your music seems to have movements. Rather, a lot of drone music is about staying still and suspending a moment. On this album, it feels like a moment is happening. It’s not suspended. Like it feels like there’s movement in the time that your songs are taking place in.

EK: On the album track “Lonely Aomori,” I started with field recordings. I wanted a day and night cycle like you’re in the town and walking through the streets. As you’re walking, the sun starts to rise. It starts at nighttime with the sound of crickets, and then it slowly starts to turn to day. You hear frogs or other daytime creatures.

MD: I noticed that when I was listening, how the field recordings changed in the song. They faded away and then became something else. So, how important is it to you that the field recording you’re using is taking place in the environment that you imagine for the song? I don’t think you used any sounds on this album that weren’t sourced in Japan. Would you have substituted a different origin if it had fit, or is that really important to you that the sounds are from the actual place?

EK: It’s pretty important to me. But there’s a limited amount of sounds that you can get from a small town in Japan. I have to use ones that I feel would fit without the geographical context, but I do spend a lot of time researching the sounds. It’s important that they’re from the areas that I’m trying to evoke.

MD: You’re in Portland or thereabouts. There are obviously a lot of opportunities for field recording where you are. Are you just fascinated by these places you haven’t been to, or could you see yourself doing an Oregon-set album? Or does that just not interest you at all?

EK: Well, there’s a rose garden in Portland up near Forest Park. It’s a protected park with huge trees and hiking trails. I did an album based on the rose garden with a lot of field recordings from there. But I’ve lived here for about 16 years. I feel like maybe I’ve gotten everything that Portland has to offer, as far as field recordings go, in terms of the areas that I’m interested in. The faraway places really do interest me more.

MD: It’s almost like you’re free to fill in the blanks. It seems to me that if you know a place, if you’re familiar with a place, it may not be as inspiring as imagining what a place is like.

EK: Definitely. If I visited San Francisco, I would be inspired by everything there. But I’m sure someone who’s lived in San Francisco for a long time wouldn’t have the same feeling.

→ Elijah Knutsen’s album Maybe Someday is available on Bandcamp and the streaming spots. Since this interview, Elijah also released an excellent EP called Dry Flower on Osaka’s OMODARU label.

Falling from the Clouds

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The Lake During Hurricane Ian

I remember snow in Florida. It happened in a small town outside Gainesville, which, technically, is considered northern Florida. But if you draw a straight line across the Gulf of Mexico, Gainesville is below New Orleans and directly across from San Antonio. So it’s not too far north.

I was a small child, this was probably in the late ’70s, and I was visiting my grandmother’s house with family for Christmas. The astonished call came out — snow! These were ‘snow flurries,’ to be precise. The meager attempt at snow turned into drops of water immediately upon impact. Of course, it wasn’t that cold. But, snow of any kind in Florida? Actually, not unheard of at the time. 

Nowadays, the idea of snow in Florida is the subject of crazy talk. Maybe there are flurries closer to the Georgia border, but I’d bet the reaction would be as if frogs were falling from the clouds. Do you want to know what’s not so surprising? Extreme heat, humidity, and ripe conditions for category 4+ hurricanes. 

Hurricane Ian was a monster hurricane. It was as much a monster as Irma, only five years ago. Both storms were massive and slow — I remember Charly in 2004, which seemed to pass through Orlando in under a couple of hours. Ian stuck around for an entire evening and some of the next day, flooding parts of the city that had never experienced such flooding. And the wind — these may not have clocked MPHs like the violent winds of Irma (that hurricane literally blew my roof off), but Ian’s sustained gusts were no small potatoes. Consider yourself lucky if you didn’t experience these winds.

My home came out relatively unscathed. Despite being beside a lake, I didn’t get any flooding as I’m on an incline. I was without power for three days but treated the situation like a mandatory digital detox. We feasted on veggies from the grill. I kept a big gas generator going. I organized my home office. I finally had time to finish reading The Dispossessed. 

That said, the images of Florida’s Gulf coast — not to mention the aforementioned local flooding — are horrifying and sad. Here are some organizations helping out that would appreciate your donations. And while on the subject of monster storms, the victims of Hurricane Fiona could still use your help, too.

I doubt we’ll get any more snow in Florida, but I’m confident these storms will continue and increase in frequency and power. It’s scary. I’m not going anywhere — if not hurricanes, it’ll be something else — so my options are to stay tense, plan thoughtfully, and maintain the generator monthly. As for Florida, we already see the cracks in the infrastructure, the systemic variety of support for disaster-prone communities, and the stress on this state’s fragile environment. As these storms get meaner and meaner, I’m not sure how Florida will continue to hold it all together. 

Peter Kalmus in The Guardian:

In short, it has been a summer of climate insanity. But even so, this will be, on average, the coolest summer with the least climate chaos for the rest of your life. That is just the nature of trends. It should be terrifying.

Colorfully Aligned

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I was pretty excited to see Chrome featured on Bandcamp Daily. The piece is an excellent overview of the pioneering San Francisco duo, revealing more than a few tidbits I didn’t know. The article is understandably from guitarist Helios Creed‘s perspective (as band partner Damon Edge passed a couple of decades back), and he takes a lot of credit. But there is something to be said about Creed’s spiraling guitar lines and bizarro feedback treatments, sounding like nothing else in the late ’70s — someone that ahead of time was likely the main driver pushing Chrome to the, uh, edge.

Chrome has sadly remained under the radar even though their influence is apparent throughout the last forty years of the freaky-deeky side of rock n’ roll. For example, the Butthole Surfers definitely got their hands on a Chrome album or two in their formative days.

I initially found Chrome in my mid-teens through the “New Age” video (probably seen via Night Flight). I was always on the hunt for weird shit™ to help me escape the confines of life in Central Louisiana, and “New Age” fit the bill. The song — and Chrome’s output at the time — was a remarkable portent. It signaled many things on the horizon, both sonically and culturally. Check the cyberpunk current running through the “New Age” video, which also pays homage to A Clockwork Orange and THX 1138.

Chrome - New Age

Around the time I discovered Chrome, I also encountered Cabaret Voltaire’s Red Mecca. That’s not too far off of a connection — Chrome were, in a way, the American Cabaret Voltaire when one looks at their respective experiments recorded in the late ’70s and early ’80s. And as many accept Red Mecca as a dark reflection on England’s Thatcher years, Chrome’s 1980 album Red Exposure (colorfully aligned!) could be seen as a similar reaction to the national mood that brought the US into the Reagan era.

And listen to Cabaret Voltaire’s “Landslide,” taken off Red Mecca. My favorite DJ in the world will be the one who sublimely mixes this with “New Age” in the middle of a packed-out ’80s night somewhere.

Cabaret Voltaire

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I’m torn. YouTube is a repository of things otherwise impossible-to-find or out-of-print. It’s the only public place where you can hear Kraftwerk’s disowned early albums or watch Keith Levene abuse a Prophet-5 as PIL runs through “Careening.” These things are on YouTube because of fans and super-fans, noting a cultural absence and taking matters into their own hands. But no one’s getting paid, except for YouTube. And maybe also the uploader who unscrupulously turns on the monetization of a vintage work that’s not theirs.1The Chrome and Cabaret Voltaire videos above were uploaded respectively by Helios Creed and Mute Records, so they are welcome to monetize to their hearts’ content. That’s why I’m torn.

But discoveries like The Black Tower make YouTube seem all right. The enigmatically but actually named John Smith is a British avant-garde filmmaker whose work escaped me until I randomly peeped an exchange about The Black Tower on the Twitter machine. From what I’ve recently seen, Smith’s work is minimal but compelling, weaving stories and visual play from things noticed in his immediate surroundings. For instance, the 1975 short film Leading Light looks entirely shot in his bedroom.2Sharp eyes might spot The Velvet Underground. This article in Senses of Cinema digs further into Smith’s ‘familiar-but-unfamiliar’ approach.

The Black Tower is a 23-minute film released by Smith in 1987. The super-fan uploader didn’t monetize this, which is nice — The Black Tower is the sort of thing that should remain free of ads; otherwise, its spell is broken. “Architectural horror” is an intriguing phrase I saw to describe the film. For me, The Black Tower is like a campfire ghost story, except it’s told next to a darkened chip shop in a disused city alleyway instead of a campfire. 

John Smith's The Black Tower

The Black Tower mainly comprises of stationary shots of nothingness and near-nothingness, but this is gripping stuff. And inspiring, too — don’t let anyone tell you lack of budget and gear constrain triumphant acts of creativity. Just get that Black Tower out of your head.

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I often wonder why more artists don’t exploit that a Bandcamp download can contain more than just audio files and an album cover. There’s an opportunity to expand an album, to add GIFs and short movies, PDF booklets, and collections of images. Surprise the listener with digital esoterica, revealed only upon purchase and download.

The concept’s potential is a natural fit for Puremagnetik. This small company is developing unique audio plug-ins for creators while manning an active experimental label on Bandcamp. Ambient explorer Taylor Deupree has released Small Winters through the label, and something new from Taylor is a cause for celebration on its own. Taylor is a longtime master of the is-it-broken-or-intentional style of soundscape as he loops warm tones over crackles and randomly conjured defects. The sources for these tones are often something other than synthesized — on Small Winters, you’ll find a glockenspiel. If you’re into this flavor, Taylor doesn’t disappoint. I’m a fan.

But there’s more in store for those who download Taylor’s latest. The album’s title, Small Winters, is also the name of a DAW plug-in designed by Puremagnetik’s Micah Frank with prodding from Taylor. “Taylor suggested that a custom device might be an interesting way to constrain the album’s sonic palette,” says Frank. “We bounced some ideas back and forth and came up with this concept of a broken Tascam 4-track from the future.” Purchase this release on Bandcamp, and you’ll find a text file bundled with the tracks outlining instructions for downloading the plug-in.

The album prominently utilizes the plug-in throughout, most notably on “Long Winter,” which treats the glockenspiel with percolating layers of static-tinged stereo-enhanced repetition. The result is beautiful; the hard attack of the ‘spiel is softened by reversed effects, low-end ghost notes, and a healthy dollop of artificial tape hiss. An ARP 2600 eventually joins in with hints of a glimmering, subdued melody.

“Long Winter” is followed by a series of shorter tracks with uncapitalized titles like “air” and “tea.” After the set’s preceding magnum opus, these might come off more like mere demonstrations of the included plug-in if the cuts didn’t fit snuggly within Taylor’s body of work. I know Taylor and Small Winters don’t rely on a plug-in for beautiful, melancholic atmospheres. But I can’t tell if this plug-in requires Taylor to come close Small Winter‘s remarkable sound. I’ll have to play with the included plug-in and figure that out for myself.

Unforeseen Circumstances

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It turns out that if you put off replacing aging scleral contacts for a couple of years, they become brittle and might crack as you gently clean them in your hands. Good to know. And that’s why I’m dealing with unforeseen circumstances — meaning, in my present state, I can’t see circumstances for shit. 

I’ve written about keratoconus here a few times. It’s a total bummer. The eyeballs lose their shape, and one’s eyesight gets wacky. As it’s a structural degradation of the eye itself, glasses aren’t too much help. Scleral contacts are your best bet (unless you want to live la vida loca and get a corneal transplant, which I am not wont to do).

The good news is I found a rad new eye doctor on a friend’s recommendation. She has keratoconus, too, which is bad news for her but good news for me. It’s nice to have a doctor who understands your condition and what you’re going through first-hand. This doc is also about 5 minutes from my house. That proximity is a novelty — over a decade ago, when first diagnosed, there were so few eye specialists dealing in keratoconus that I had to be driven (as I couldn’t safely drive) four hours to Miami. I did that almost monthly for a year. And my new doc had to do the same thing at the time.

I saw this doctor yesterday and was thoroughly eye-prodded and iris-scanned to get the perfect fit for my new scleral lenses. I can’t wait to get them. Because right now, I’m legally blind. And I’ll remain this way until the contacts arrive, which appears to happen next Thursday. 

I won’t get into what these things cost. I’ll just say that if you wear ‘normal’ contacts, multiply your price by at least five. But I can’t normally function, easily work, or do much of anything enjoyable without my expensive bionic eyes. That keratoconus is not covered by any insurance plan I know of is another white mark on the chalkboard of health care crimes in the good ol’ USA.

But I can blog, right? Sure! But if you spied into my window, you’d see me holding my phone up to my face, typing on the tiny keyboard with my thumbs. It’s so much comfier on my peepers to do it this ridiculous way than looking into my huge 29″ computer monitor. And watching movies? On my iPad, also held maybe five inches from the tip of my nose. So, what do you have planned for the week ahead? I’ll be holding various devices against my nose.

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I also realized that I hadn’t posted my BNDCMPR playlist for June. So, here it is. As always, this playlist is a selection of fantastic songs I ran across on Bandcamp over the past month. The playlist is shorter this time, but the quality is mountain high. If you dig anything I included, then feel free to purchase the tune. Or, at least, follow the corresponding artist or label on Bandcamp. Enjoy!

Radioactivities: The Life and Times of Mr. and Mrs. Kraftwerk

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I knew David and Jennifer long before they became Mr. and Mrs. Kraftwerk. Actually, David and I used to pal around in college, performing on-air hijinks on college radio stations and attending Butthole Surfers concerts. There was always a performance art aspect to David’s humor, probably spurred on by the mischievous subcultures you’d find sneaking around late ’80s campuses. As the Subgenius slogan went, “Fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke.“

The honorary title of Mr. and Mrs. Kraftwerk was unwittingly foisted upon David and Jennifer. As you’ll learn, David is the fabled Florida man who changed his name to ‘Kraftwerk.’ Or so they say.

As self-described ‘super fans’ of the German uber-group, David and Jennifer at first happily embraced getting tangled in the mythos of Kraftwerk. Now they unashamedly encourage and propagate it. If this were one of those movie ‘expanded universes,’ you’d have to now refer to their contributions to the Kraftwerk story as canon.

This post breaks down the timeline of David and Jennifer’s Kraftwerk-related activities, projects, and art pranks. A common theme is the automobile — what begins with a memorable driver’s license photo ends up with the five-figure purchase of the very Beetle spotted in 3D at Kraftwerk’s current shows.

You won’t be surprised to learn this list is incomplete. There are the gingerbread cookies, the BBC Radio interview, the Computer World computer project, the new concert-going outfits, the teletubbies, and so much more. Like musique, this project is non-stop. The tale of Mr. and Mrs. Kraftwerk is an ever-developing story.

The transcript below is taken from a much longer conversation — nearly 45 minutes, in fact. The full interview goes into many other Kraftwerk-related shenanigans and some nerdy details. You can listen to it all in the handy audio player below.

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FLORIDA MAN CHANGES HIS NAME TO KRAFTWERK

Mr. Kraftwerk's Driver's License
Mr. Kraftwerk's Driver's License

David: When we moved to Florida, we had to get new driver’s license photos.

Jennifer: And David went to the DMV as Man Machine. And specifically asked the photographer to make sure that his — I don’t know how you managed to pull this off — but get your shirt and tie in the photo because they always cut it off at the Adam’s apple. The fact that you were able to ask for that, without it raising any red flags or strangeness, and them doing it — kudos.

Michael: Was that the same day that you took all the other photos of Man Machine out and about?

Jennifer: Yes. Because since he was already in costume, why not continue taking photos, documenting this costume, and then doing things that are out of character for a Kraftwerk robot.

David: You mean like having humanity?

Jennifer: Yes. Like doing something other than standing motionless on a stage.

Mr. Kraftwerk feeds the ducks.
Mr. Kraftwerk feeds the ducks.

David: So we fed some ducks, put some gas in the Subaru, and enjoyed some delicious iced coffee. Then at the end of the day, I went to bed.

Michael: Then you posted the photos online.

Jennifer: Yes. It took about six or eight months, and then somebody found them and just made up a story. They didn’t reach out or contact anybody.

David: It was Dangerous Minds. And they made this whole story up based upon the photos. Florida Man Changes His Name to ‘Kraftwerk.’ I woke up that morning, had a cup of coffee, and took a quick look at my social media feed. At that point, I’d already had like 50 notifications, and I was puzzled.

Michael: And then it ballooned from there!

David: Nevermind that Vice Magazine interviewed me, and Road and Track got in contact because of the DMV end of it. Oh, and New Music Express wrote a story. Nevermind that. We were in Lakeland, Florida, of all places, at a record store, and somebody started whispering, “Hey, it’s that’s the guy. That’s the guy who changed his name to Kraftwerk.”

Jennifer: It was finally a bit of fun news about a Florida man. Nothing that involved an alligator or an arrest.

David: It was probably the first positive Florida man story to be written in a decade.1You can read David’s ‘inside story’ of this experience here.

THE KRAFTWERK WEDDING

Kraftwerk wedding-goers in 3D glasses.
Kraftwerk wedding-goers in 3D glasses.

David: We were planning on getting married, and I half-jokingly said to Jennifer, “What about Kraftwerk as a wedding theme?” And she wasn’t half-joking with her answer. She was full on.

Jennifer: So a red shirt and black tie were obvious attire for all of the wedding party, including me. Then we made two Kraftwerk podiums. They’re like lecterns but are actually the cases that they stand in front of when they perform. We found some traffic cones that didn’t have stripes and proceeded to mask them off and spray paint them, give them stripes. And when we went to see Kraftwerk in Atlanta, both of us had the foresight to collect as many discarded 3D glasses on the way out of the venue as possible.2There’s a lot more that went into this wedding — read this blog post.

Michael: And everyone dressed as Man Machine.

Jennifer: Yes. That was the only request.

Michael: And the wedding got written up in a bunch of places, including in Germany.

Jennifer: Yes, in the Rheinische Post in Düsseldorf.

KRAFTWERK’S NEW PRESS PHOTO

Kraftwerk (?) at the Dimensions Festival 2018, Croatia.
Kraftwerk (?) at the Dimensions Festival 2018, Croatia.

Jennifer: We reached out to a photographer friend named Jon Wolding. Sort of last minute, maybe a month before the wedding, and told him our idea.

Michael: This is the photo taken at the end of the night, replicating the Man Machine album cover.

Jennifer: He managed to pull it together in the back parking lot; that’s the exit staircase of the second level of Ella’s. He stuck some red photo paper to the outside of the building with gaff tape, and he and his, team managed to set up and light that amazing photo.3Editor’s note: Yes, I am one of the four participants in this photo.

Michael: Then, unexpectedly, the photo starts appearing in strange places.

David: It was at a music festival in Croatia. The Dimensions Festival 2018. And, on their website, they used our photo as the photo of Kraftwerk, the festival’s headliner. And if they printed flyers and posters like that, I would pay a King’s ransom for one.

Michael: I think what happened is somehow, through rampant sharing, the picture built enough SEO credibility that it somehow marched its way to the top of an image search result for ‘Kraftwerk.’

David: Yeah, apparently that’s what happened. And then there were other things as a result of that. Like bandanas and other apparel being sold on Amazon with our wedding photo on them.

KRAFTWERK SKY DANCER

Kraftwerk Sky Dancer

Michael: What was the next project?

Jennifer: We carved the pumpkins for Halloween. Then, soon after, around Christmas, the neighborhoods here are full of those inflatable Yodas and Santa Clauses and stuff. And I thought, “Wouldn’t it be fantastic to have a Kraftwerk sky dancer?” I mocked it out on packing material paper and got some ripstop nylon, and sewed it together.4Jennifer will show you exactly how she made the sky dancer in this blog post. And I found a guy on Craigslist that had a surplus of wind sock fans. I don’t know why. We did a test run out in the front yard, and it worked! But now we need to find someplace with a nice backdrop for a video. So we guerrilla-style drove up in the backside of the Tampa Museum of Art, put the hazards on, wheeled the fan and the sky dancer out, and plugged it into an outlet. That’s the video that you see of the sky dancer video on YouTube.5Be sure to read David’s blog post for more detail on building the sky dancer.

David: You should make it very clear: we tried to get them to sign off on it. They just looked at us like we were offering a lightly fried weasel in a bun. So, we had to take matters into our own hands and just go do it.

Jennifer: Since we had met Wolfgang Flür,6A meeting which you can read about in David’s excellent blog post. it seemed logical to put his face on the sky dancer. So it’s a Wolfgang Skydancer, which he thoroughly loved. And he’s used that video footage in his recent concert backdrop video.

KRAFTWERK PUPPETS

Kraftwerk Puppet Video

Jennifer: The puppets were also an idea that I’d had, but, again, how to get from an idea to making something three-dimensional — I didn’t know how to do it. And it occurred to me that maybe I should look on YouTube. And sure enough, Adam Kreutinger has a whole how-to one-on-one series on making puppets.

David: And Jennifer vanished down a puppet rabbit hole, like a wormhole in space and time, not to be seen for months.

Jennifer: So now we’re the proud custodians of four rather large Muppet-sized Kraftwerk puppets,7Jennifer documented the creation of the Kraftwerk puppets in this Flickr album. which we used to shoot a video set to the “Autobahn” cover by New David.

David: New David did a lovely cover of a number of Kraftwerk songs. I think that his cover of “Autobahn” is the most significant because he takes a song that is intrinsically very synth-laden and with no real-world instrumentation, and he turns it into an ode to a drive in the country. And it’s beautiful. We were listening to it and had the idea that this was something that we could do a video for. We began working on an homage to New David’s homage. Then I got in touch with him and said, “Hey, can we use your music for our video?” and he was all for it. It worked out well, and the rest is history.

FLORIAN SCHNEIDER’S BEETLE

Florian Schneider's Volkwagen Beetle.
Florian Schneider's Volkwagen Beetle.

David: And then the bad news came.

Michael: Which was Florian Schneider’s passing.

David: Yeah. It was a large loss. You could feel it. For us, it was like, and I guess, how the world felt about the loss of David Bowie except a little more poignant. I wrote a story about the 26 days of silence following Florian Schneider’s death on Medium, and I led that story off with a photo of his Volkswagen Beetle. But we didn’t know about the car going up for sale until Claudia8Claudia is Florian Schneider’s sister. You’ll have to listen to the full interview in the player at the top to learn how she figures into this tale. ‘at mentioned’ one of us on social media about it being for sale on the German equivalent of Autotrader.

Jennifer: The more we thought about the opportunity, it seemed that we should at least make, as they say, the college try. We should at least reach out to the dealer, give him a little backstory on who we are, why we’re interested in the vehicle, what we’re prepared to spend on it, and ask, was he willing at all? Is it possible for him to make any kind of compromise on the going price?

David: Obviously, you don’t have a good idea what sort of value to place on the 1949 Volkswagen Beetle owned by Florian Schneider. It’s hard to wrangle a price, especially when you’re doing it over a phone line regarding a car that you’ve never laid eyes on in person. So I laid out the case for the two odd-ball Americans, so very far away from the Beetle’s homeland in Germany. He felt certain synchronicity with us, and he was willing to do it.

Michael: So then the car had to get on a boat, but did you go there to see it first?

David: Yes. We really wanted to go see this car in its home, before it came over. And so we went, and that afforded great opportunities to meet journalists who suddenly found our purchase of the car to be very, very newsworthy.

Michael: So once again, the news cycle kicks into gear.

David: I don’t remember the journalist’s name who wrote the story in the Süddeutsche Zeitung, but that newspaper is the German equivalent of the New York Times. It has national distribution across Germany, and Germans are fanatical readers of the newspaper. It was a really big deal. And the story was on page three of their A section. It didn’t go in the C section or the D section. It was page three and the entire page, top to bottom, in the A section. Because the Germans took a great interest in the idea that this piece of their cultural heritage was going to get loaded on a boat and go to Florida for two American Kraftwerk fanatics.

Jennifer: And then the car got on a boat for what we thought was going to take a month. It turned out to be closer to four and a half.

Michael: Well, the car finally arrives, and you’re ready for it. And you’re able to fully document the arrival.

David: (Laughter) There was a lot of emotion; it’s going to be here any day. Now we were thinking, with great confidence, they will definitely give us notice before it gets here. Except that there was zero notice. I happened to be up, and I heard a noise outside at 1:30 in the morning. I peek out of the blinds, and there’s this enormous automotive transportation trailer. They’re offloading cars, and I think, “Oh, that can’t possibly be for us. They must have had a flat or something.” I walk out there in my jimjams and my bed head with a flashlight, and sure enough, at the back of the trailer is our Beetle. And we were prepared to have a friend of ours do videography and document the joyful reunion of us with Florian Schneider’s Beetle. And instead, it’s me holding my telephone at arm’s length with bedhead and trying to pretend that I’m happy.

Michael: Would they have left it in the street if you hadn’t been there?

David: I can’t tell you. I regret walking outside as I’d like to know what they would have done.

Michael: So, then, what are the plans for the Beetle?

David: The plan is to bring it to Volkswagen events and show it not only as a fantastic, very close to the war post-war artifact but also as a piece of German cultural heritage. Perhaps with a cutout of Florian Schneider and some Kraftwerk playing.9and hopefully Wolfgang Skydancer dancing alongside!

Michael: Do you foresee driving around in it?

David: Well, we still need to finish its legalization in the state of Florida. But you know, a lot of terrible yet ironic things seem to happen in this world. And it would be just totally ironic and terrible if a distracted person sending a text were to t-bone this car while in Tampa traffic.

Michael: And driving a neon pink modern Volkswagen.

David: Yeah. So, while it will occasionally be driven, it’s only going to be under the auspices of a Sunday morning drive while all the particularly bad people are still in bed, recovering from hangovers. It will get taken to car shows, but we’re going to get a nice flatbed trailer to transport it. To that end, we purchased a tow vehicle: a big white GMC truck. And Jennifer is in the midst of making some amazing vinyl graphics that are going to be on the side.

Jennifer: I’ve already purchased little metal letters for the back tailgate. This truck is now the Kraftwerk Edition GMC truck.

David: It looks very official.

Kraftwerk Edition GMC Truck.
Kraftwerk Edition GMC Truck.

KRAFTWERK IS THE REASON

Michael: I’m curious — besides being big fans, what do you feel makes Kraftwerk ripe for this?

David: It’s the absurdity of having a sense of humor about a band that takes itself so seriously. Or, more accurately, whose fans take the band so seriously. I don’t know that Kraftwerk take themselves that seriously …

Jennifer: Their fans sure do.

David: But the fans do. Talk about a bunch of killjoys.

Jennifer: Kraftwerk has created such a simple and bold pallet to pull from: vivid colors, vivid shapes, iconography, symbols … like visual samples that can be reused and reconstituted and put together in completely new and different ways. And I like putting things together in ways that are incongruent with this severe hard visual aesthetic that’s been put out by the band.

Michael: I also think the mysteriousness of them allows people to fill in their own blanks. And, to me, you’re starting to take on sort of a Kraftwerk-ian version of The Yes Men.

David: Thank you for drawing that analogy. That’s good.

Michael: It’s this idea of these intentionally bizarre things putting a stop to people’s normal brain processes and making them think in ways they’ve never thought before in order to try to figure things out.

David: That was the tenant of the surrealists. And that’s kind of what we hope to achieve. There’s an absurdity that we want to poke at to the point that it makes people uncomfortable. I mean, we are super fans, but at the same time, we’re also kind of trolling the super fans.

The Pomposity of It All

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One of the first bands I was into was Yes (which is why I know a thing or two about Alan White). One could easily find most of their oeuvre in the cut-out bins, so I had all of Yes’s early albums by the time I was 15 — even this one. But soon, punk rock and post-punk reared their shaggy heads. I quickly jettisoned Yes, prog-rock, and anything resembling those to the dustbin.

So, I never really got into Vangelis. The pomposity of it all — I filed him alongside the Rick Wakemans and Keith Emersons of the world. My synth heroes were rarely photographed in front of banks of gear, whether Cabaret Voltaire, Chris Carter, or the more humble practitioners regularly featured in Keyboard Magazine, like Suzanne Ciani. Of course, I dug the music in Blade Runner, but I was just into Blade Runner. Though I watched it multiple times, I only saw it via VHS or DVD on television at home. I considered every part of it satisfying as a whole.

In 2007, Blade Runner: The Final Cut was released on the film’s 25th anniversary. This version wasn’t just another ‘director’s cut’ treatment — the visuals and sound were fully remastered, with the latter updated for theaters with surround sound. At the time of its theater run, I was in Los Angeles, staying with a friend and looking for something to do on a lazy afternoon. My friend told me that a cinema within walking distance of his place was one of the ‘test theaters’ used by the film’s technical team to fine-tune this new Blade Runner version. The movie was playing on that particular screen, and, as the film’s techies optimized the ‘remaster’ in that very theater, this would be one of the best settings in the world to see this latest Blade Runner.

I walked down to the cinema. It was the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, and there weren’t many people there. I was able to get the coveted center-but-several-rows-from-the-screen seat. No one sat near me, and, with no snacks to distract me or drinks to inspire a restroom break, I settled in for my first time seeing Blade Runner on the big screen.

The first thing to hit was the opening shot of the city at night, accompanied by that identifiable ‘boom’ sound.1which, btw, I sampled and used repeatedly throughout this track The city and all its lights looked incredible, so clear and gorgeous. I was immediately overwhelmed. But then here comes Vangelis. The plaintive opening theme eases in, and I hear it all around me. The high melodic line seems to float around the theater. The music is so crisp, vibrant, and alive — I’m finally comprehending the accomplishment of Vangelis’s score.

The sum of Blade Runner’s parts does combine into something magical, a synergy that doesn’t often happen in collective art. And it’s no surprise to learn that Vangelis composed the music specifically for the visuals and only in service of what was on screen. As he’s quoted as saying, “My music does not try to evoke emotions like joy, love, or pain from the audience. It just goes with the image, because I work in the moment.”

Of course, Vangelis recently passed away. Thinking about what I missed, I’m planning a deep dive and give a try to some classic Vangelis music that I once dismissed (without hearing, I’ll add). If you’re in the same boat, a good starting place is this memorial and career overview from Alexis Petridis.

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Through the recent Aquarium Drunkard podcast interview with Sasha Frere-Jones, I discovered a new-to-me podcast called Weird Studies. The show’s description: “Conversations on art and philosophy, dwelling on ideas that are hard to think, and art that opens up rifts in what we are pleased to call ‘reality.'” Could I be any more on board after seeing that?

I’ve listened to two episodes so far, and they were both delightfully fun and heady. Of course, I started with the philosophical discussion of Blade Runner. And then I naturally moved on to the episode about Brian Eno’s Music For Airports. So many ideas are shoved in each hour+ that it was a little dizzying to keep up. It’s a podcast that might warrant repeated listenings for episodes on your preferred topics. 

As the discussion of Eno went on, with the concept of ambient music’s context a recurring theme, I was surprised the hosts didn’t mention the story of Eno hearing Music For Airports played in an airport. Unfortunately, the story is anecdotal, relayed by Brian in an interview I can’t locate. Brian told of arriving at an airport for a highly-trumpeted installation he was giving in the city. The album greeted him as he stepped off the plane and into the terminal. The only problem was that it was playing too loud. “They missed the point!” I recall him saying in the interview with palpable frustration. His reaction makes me think of this classic Far Side cartoon, and, in Eno’s version, you’d replace New Age Music’s Greatest Hits with Music For Airports played at top volume.

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While on the subject of Brian Eno, I need to mention the incredibly indulgent box set recently released by his chum Robert Fripp. The Exposures box consists of a stupefying 32 discs, broken down here by John Coulthart, who possesses one of these monsters:

I’m still working my way through its contents: 25 CDs, 3 DVDs and 4 blu-rays; the CDs all run for at least 70 minutes each so these alone provide about 30 hours of music. The box covers three phases of Robert Fripp’s “Drive to 1981”: his debut solo album, Exposure; his Frippertronics guitar recordings, both live and in the studio; and his short-lived New-Wave dance band The League Of Gentleman. All cult stuff in this house, obviously, you don’t buy 32 discs on a whim.

The average price of this thing sits around $170, which is reasonable for all of that. But this is a niche piece — I mean, I’m big a fan of Robert Fripp, but I guess not big enough as I won’t be getting this. I wonder how many Robert’s team has manufactured. But it’s easy to see the future2And the present, if we’re being honest. of physical releases in Exposures. I’m not necessarily talking about extravagant multi-disc treatments that cost a few weeks of grocery money. I’m impressed by the niche aspect, the catering to the hardcore of the hardcore fans with a limited run edition, and you don’t need the discography and gravitas of Fripp to do it. Perhaps you can issue a disc with a limited zine featuring exclusive insights into the artist’s process. Or a cassette that comes in a beautiful wooden box, each individually painted or hand-carved, signed by band members.

The key is creating the myth — drawn from truths and stories — that swirls around your art and serves the listeners looking for entry into those secrets. No pussyfooting!

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