8Sided Blog

the scene celebrates itself

Brightly Transmitted Influences

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Today, I’m listening to Im Fünfminutentakt, an album by the enigmatic act Fred und Luna released last April. In playful press releases, Fred und Luna are purported to be moon-based explorers observing and commenting on Earthly activities through the language of music. This set-up, along with a synthesized and intentional retro sound that those same press releases refer to as “elektrokraut,” signals the kind of thing I’d often shy away from. But Im Fünfminutentakt is a terrific album.

Fred und Luna owe much to Kraftwerk and the electronic German music of the Kosimche ’70s. But where the album excels is when those brightly transmitted influences are stylistically fiddled with. Im Fünfminutentakt‘s first three tracks are what I’m talking about: there’s “Aurum C,” a bubbling, motorik album intro, and “Nur ein Viertelstündchen,” which brings to mind a becalmed take on New Order’s “Your Silent Face”—itself a Kraftwerk tribute. But the standout is the song sandwiched in between those two. “Es ist so schön”—”It is so beautiful”—is a fancy female/male duet that’s one part new wave dancefloor in restraint, one part affected Weimar torch song, and one part Cluster foolin’ around. It vibes for days and sounds like what hopeful young American couples imagine Europe to be like.

Im Fünfminutentakt and Fred und Luna first grabbed my attention when this album was released, but the reason I’m commenting on it now is less felicitous. Fred und Luna was one person, a creative hustle and bustle by the name of Rainer Buchmüller. In addition to creating the music of Fred Und Luna and performing/DJ’ing under that name, Rainer is also listed as a poet and record store owner—two identities perhaps even more financially challenging than professional musician. The sad news over the wire this week is that Rainer succumbed to cancer and is no longer with us.

Rainer was obviously harboring expertise and indebtedness to the strain of German music lovingly referred to as Krautrock. Not only do the recordings of Fred und Luna wear this proud lineage on their sonic sleeves, but Rainer was involved in Future Sounds of Kraut, a compilation series released via Compost Records. The aim is to highlight the latest crop of German artists (though not exclusively so) that are carrying the Krautrock torch into our modern age. Volume 1, embedded below, is well worth a listen. Volume 2, already completed, is due on March 1. Rainer Buchmüller did not live to see its release, but I am thankful he was able to complete the project.

Time’s running out, my friends. Stay focused on the things and people you love.

Felix Laband: Sine Waves in Heaven

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I’ve always held a fascination for musical artists that started as painters — Brian Eno and Captain Beefheart come to mind — but it’s often impossible to find a key to their music through their visual expressions. Not so with Felix Laband. The South African recording artist’s sonic output stands side-by-side with his collage art, with his pieces adorning the covers of his albums from the very first, 2001’s Thin Shoes In June. The subjects of Felix’s collages are fractured, spare, and dramatically chopped. You might find animal life, anguished faces, African imagery, drab buildings, vague slogans, and pervy goings-on. And the collages, intentionally or not, accompany and unlock Felix’s music, especially his latest album, The Soft White Hand. 

Supported by a canvas of bright pigments in tone and melody, the citizens of Felix’s collages reside in his songs. Field recordings, animated dialogues, newsreel announcements, and undefinable intonations twist and bend in context — the mundane becoming bizarre, the bitter becoming joyous, the pleasant turning ominous. Felix’s label, Compost Records, delves into this aspect in the album’s press release:

“My music is always about collage, as is my art,” [Felix] affirms. “Everything I do is collage. It is a medium I find very interesting because you are taking history and distorting it and changing its meaning and turning it upside down and back to front.” In her book Recollections of My Non-Existence, Rebecca Solnit calls collage “literally a border art”; it is “an art of what happens when two things confront each other or spill onto each other.”

The music on The Soft White Hand can exist and satisfy without the insertion of collage. But the collage and the nature of its sample-play transform the album into personal reflection. With some attention, one can grasp Felix’s reservations and struggles — as a South African in a powder keg, as a sufferer of substance abuse, and of feeling abandoned and rejected in a world that’s lost control of itself. But despite the turmoil, the construction of The Soft White Hand has a deliberateness and a lightness. The album is sonically crisp — the melodies tend to sparkle, the rhythms can’t help but gyrate, and the low end is tough and resolute. Felix is an electronic music producer’s producer (like someone deemed “a DJ’s DJ or a writer’s writer”). The stereo spread is full and cosmic, open for study and ready to yield surprises on repeated listens. The Soft White Hand can’t be easily defined but feels close to something we already know.

Some months back, I interviewed David Sanborn (alongside his crafty wife, Jennifer Huber) for an expose on the extreme mischief of their Kraftwerk fandom. I was also aware that David is a devoted fan of Felix Laband’s art and music. In 2017, David bought one of Felix’s collage works and had it shipped from South Africa at a not-insignificant expense. The piece is fantastic, and I’ve admired it on David and Jennifer’s wall many times. This purchase inspired a correspondence between David and Felix, and they became regular internet acquaintances. So, when Felix appeared on my radar as an 8sided interview subject, I immediately thought of David. Who better to talk to this enigmatic artist? 

My instinct paid off. As you’ll hear in the interview audio below, these two had a mutually generous and strikingly personal conversation about life, Felix’s music, the state of the world, South Africa, and much more — along with many humorous asides. Here’s what David wants you to know about this interview: 

My pal Michael asked me if I was interested in interviewing Felix Laband, a South African composer of sublime electronic music I’ve long admired, to which I replied with a hard YES and an emphatic affirmative. I spent days relistening to Felix’s back catalog, making notes, and hoping to create a dialog complementary to his aspirations. In short, I was dedicated and thrilled about the opportunity. In retrospect, I may have over-delivered as Felix was a charming and fascinating man who shared some unique interests and opinions with me, so the sprawling recording I handed Michael to prune down to something manageable exceeded two hours. Michael: I’m sorry. Had I not asked every question and lifted every rug, I wouldn’t have stumbled on our shared loathing of dubstep, a shared loving of the film Withnail & I, and the dirt on Die Antwoord. I hope this interview shines a spotlight on an artist who deserves so much more than he’s received. 

I managed to edit this fascinating chat down to one tight hour, and I threw in a few interludes using music from The Soft White Hand. In addition to what David mentions in his paragraph, the two discuss the perils of addiction, why you shouldn’t ask your elders to translate Einstürzende Neubauten lyrics, the meanings behind some of the album’s samples, finding lewd photos for salacious collage art, and why David would rather interview Felix than Ralf Hütter of Kraftwerk. 

A big thanks to David Sanborn for conducting this interview (here’s his blog, which he should update more often, nudge nudge). What follows is a transcripted excerpt from the conversation, which begins with Felix wondering if he should leave South Africa as he and David explore a frequent artistic malady: self-doubt. If all this piques your interest, please enjoy the entire conversation in the handy audio player. It’s a good one.

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FL: Obviously [I could emigrate] to Europe because my record label, [Compost Records], is there. Probably Berlin to start with, just because it’s central and I have a lot of friends there. But this war is making everything quite difficult. I’m quite nervous.

DS: Yeah, the whole world feels destabilized, and a lot depends on the outcome. But that brings us to a catch-22. What is Felix Laband without South Africa? I think for a lot of artists, the struggles they experience make their music possible. I want to see you live somewhere where you’re safe, and you’re happy. But does that mean the music will continue, or will you give a big sigh of relief and just try to live your life happily? 

FL: I think the music will continue. But perhaps, and this might sound a bit odd, what I think about a lot is studying music [abroad] now that I’m a bit older and more mature. Perhaps I would take it seriously, like maybe classical music or, in particular, chamber music, which is what I’m really into. I don’t have any formal training. I feel like I’ve reached the point where my ideas are getting boring, and I’m not capable of thinking in terms of big chords and stuff like that. I feel like that might open a whole new chapter in my experience with music.

DS: I don’t want to come across as pandering, but you know I’m a big fan. I think The Soft White Hand is brilliant. It’s a cracking album. My wife and I went to the UK for the last three weeks and rented a car. We drove from Scotland all the way down to the Isle of Wight, and we listened to your album like half the time. 

FL: Beautiful. 

DS: And you talk about expanding your musical palette with some formal training. But I’ve got to say that this album is as close as electronic music gets to chamber music. There are elements to that album that remind me of the French composer Johann Pachelbel, for example. There are melodic elements that remind me of Philip Glass. And yet here you are saying you don’t feel that you’re as good as you could be. And I’m sure that there’s probably some truth to that in your mind, but I think you might also be a little, um … what’s the word I’m looking for? A lack of ego, perhaps.

FL: I appreciate you saying that. It means so much to me because I do feel like this album is a lot closer to where I want to be. I’ve been banging away trying to make this album for about six or seven years. And it only came together in terms of a concept, of something I was feeling confident about, maybe in the last year. That was after I was in a weird relationship with somebody a lot younger than me. It was quite a traumatic relationship, with a lot of fighting and stuff, but she helped me have a proper look at what I’m doing. She was right about a lot of stuff, and it pushed me a bit. That led to a bit more confidence in what it is that I actually want to do.

DS: Would you like to attend a university, or is there somebody you would like to work with who could impart knowledge? 

FL: I’m told that, because of my experience [as a recording artist], if I had to apply to a university, I might have some way in even though I don’t have any training. But I don’t even know what’s out there. I just think it might be quite interesting and push me to embrace that style of thinking.

DS: A common element of this album — and in most of your music — is a purity of sound. You use bells and other things that have a pure tone. There’s no distortion. When I listen to how hard you work on your music to make it perfect, it’s telling that you feel you could be a better musician. I know this isn’t news to you, but you don’t ever use the same drum break twice. You’re never just cutting and pasting four-bar loops. What causes that need for perfection? What makes you go for this particular sound?

FL: That’s such an interesting question. You know, if I were going to heaven, I would be on a sine wave. (laughs) I’ve always loved that tone. It speaks to me, that sort of sine wave tone. And I do love bell sounds and things like that. It’s interesting because distortion was something that I was super into at a certain point in my life. But I do find it quite difficult these days, especially in electronic music.

DS: There’s such purity in your music. There’s no distortion at all. It’s some of the clearest, cleanest stuff I’ve heard.

FL: I suppose it feels right to me. I mean, some tracks evolve over a long time. They might have started as something completely the opposite. I tend to work with things that I’ve done previously when I realize that it fits with something I’m working on now. I’ll merge them together. But when I feel it’s perfectly married and finished, it’s often clean in tone. Although, that’s not a conscious idea. It’s interesting that you brought that up, as I haven’t thought about it. You’re right.

→ Felix Laband’s The Soft White Hand is out now on Compost Records. You can find the album on Bandcamp, as well as all the streaming spots. To check out some of Felix’s collage art, visit his Instagram page.

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.

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.

Policy of Glue

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The passing of Depeche Mode’s Andy Fletcher — at 60, far too young — renewed the light-hearted debate about his role in the pioneering synth-pop outfit. “Martin’s the songwriter, Alan’s the good musician, Dave’s the vocalist, and I bum around,” he stated in the documentary Depeche Mode: 101.

Andy was aware of this ambiguity. One could guess it stemmed from the apparent influence of Kraftwerk. No one was certain of the individual Kraftwerkers’ contributions beyond what concert-goers witnessed on stage in the early days. In an interview for Electronic Beats, Andy acknowledged this: “… bands like Kraftwerk or Depeche Mode actually work as divisions of labor collectives. The contribution of each individual remains invisible. And because I don’t push myself to the fore, many mistake me for the fifth wheel.”

There are even jokes about how Andy didn’t even plug in his keyboard for concerts. Well, I saw Depeche Mode in 1991, and I had a terrible seat — if the band was facing in the direction of 6 o’clock, I was seated at ten past the hour. With that view from behind, I do remember looking down and seeing hands resting on the keyboard despite the sound of rousing chord changes.

But then we learn that Andy was ‘the glue’ holding Depeche Mode together, a phrase repeatedly mentioned in music press obituaries. Especially before the band achieved its massive popularity, Andy acted as a sort of manager, handling the band’s business affairs and making informed decisions. I imagine he interfaced with Mute, their label, had a hand in Depeche Mode’s unmistakable branding and public image, and made more than a few tactical recommendations as the band rocketed to fame.

In the 21st century, a band member of this sort is increasingly crucial and more common than you think. There are at least a couple of well-known electronic acts I’m acquainted with where one of the members is the business head rather than a studio boffin. Sometimes these folks are even the ones doing press and interviews, relieving stress from the shy bandmate who’d rather be programming a synthesizer.

The difference from an acting manager is investment. Like Andy, this individual is seen as a member of the band, does have some say on the musical output despite the lack of studio chops, and may even get songwriting credit (and publishing shares) for his or her indispensable contribution.

This arrangement is a great idea, and I encourage bands I advise to think this way. It’s pretty much impossible to get a (competent) manager to handle an act’s affairs before the band has reached some level of success. If self-promotion, social media posting, talking to promoters, and keeping track of schedules and finances bums you out, then add someone to the band with that responsibility. If you’re a solo producer, then become a duo. There are already a lot of electronic music duos out there that are duos primarily based on this idea.

This concept doesn’t downplay Andy Fletcher’s contribution one bit. As we’ve learned, he was ‘the glue’ and the one holding things down, so the others had more space to write and record. It’s hard to dispute that Andy had equal importance to the rest of Depeche Mode’s membership. That glue is the secret to an act’s success, and if it’s missing from your music career’s toolbox, you should find some straight away.

Thank Me In Ten Years

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Last night I watched the new documentary about The Go-Go’s. The doc shares the name of the band, and I don’t know why that apostrophe is there, but it’s there, and it drives me crazy. Another thing that drives me crazy is when bands don’t evenly share songwriting credits (and, in turn, publishing royalties) and end up acrimoniously splitting up. Yes, one person may write all the songs. But that person didn’t come up with that drum part or that bass guitar riff, and the song wouldn’t be the same without those. 

This is a prime example of long-term thinking, as bands that swallow their pride and share songwriting credits are the ones that stay together for a long time. Just ask U2 — which you might find surprising as they’re known for having a singer with a Jupiter-sized ego. But U2 splits their songwriting credits four ways.

If you need further convincing, listen to this interview with REM’s Mike Mills on Brian Koppelman’s The Moment. Mills was a principal songwriter in that band from the beginning. And he explains that it took a lot of coaxing to get him to share songwriting credits on his songs equally with his bandmates. In retrospect, he’s thankful he did as he owes this to REM’s long career and continuing friendship.

And the other side of the coin — The Police.

If I were a band manager, this would be the first thing I’d tell any new band I took on: share your songwriting credits and share your publishing. Thank me in ten years.

——————

In today’s issue of his fantastic newsletter, Joe Muggs shared this video of Kraftwerk in 1973 publicly debuting Wolfgang Flür and his homemade electronic percussion. Says Muggs:

You can see the transformation happening in front of your eyes from the psychedelic band they were to the true, technology-centred Kraftwerk: even the outfits are mid transformation, smartened up but not quite the uniforms that would define them. Only months after this, they would record the Autobahn album.

——————

I had my first long conversation with a COVID-19 survivor. It feels like I should have spoken to many others as I’m here in Florida where things are, uh, not cool. It probably says a lot about the effectiveness of my sequestration. Anyway, I did not realize this friend caught the virus at the end of March. We’ve only chatted briefly online since then, understandably not the place you’d want to bring up the subject. In a phone call, he revealed his illness, and I was full of questions. Yes, it was 14 days of hell — it’s nothing like the flu, folks — but he was lucky and recovered. Even though he feels 100% most of the time now, he told me that there are moments when he feels unusually out-of-breath. He’s athletic, so this happens sometimes (but not all the time) when he’s doing sports-like activities. That’s scary, and I feel bad for the professional athletes who may not perform at a high level after recovering from this illness. Anyway, it was an illuminating conversation — hearing about the virus first-hand made it much more ‘real.’ If you know anyone who has had COVID-19, I recommend having an inquisitive chat if they’re willing. 

——————

Friend of Ringo and fellow Butthole Surfers fanatic Richard Norris — he of The Grid, Beyond The Wizard’s Sleeve, and a myriad of other projects — has announced a new album titled Elements. Richard describes it as fusing “warm analogue synths, widescreen ambience and pulsating, subtly changing sequencers, creating a hypnotic, mesmerising work.” It’s out on September 4. I haven’t bought a compact disc in a while, but if I did buy one, it would be Elements. The CD has the most gorgeous packaging. Here’s the first track (and the first element), offered as a preview: “Earth.”

Sampling Non-Stop

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CMU’s Setlist podcast is running a fantastic series of shows on the ‘Top Ten Legal Battles’ in the music industry. The latest episode is about a European court’s recent judgment over a two-second sample from Kraftwerk’s “Metall auf Metall”. As I’ve covered on the blog, the defendant lost. It’s all quite fascinating, and the podcast covers the ins-and-outs. The hosts also include a short history of sampling litigation and an easy-to-follow explanation of the rights in play. Check it out:

The unsuccessful lawsuit over a short horn sample in Madonna’s “Vogue” is discussed in the history section. The hosts remark that the publisher for the sampled artist — The Salsoul Orchestra — used ‘new technology’ to identify the short sample. I would make a bet this technology is the website whosampled.com. Rights-owners often consult this site to find who sampled their artists. I speak from experience — someone once contacted me regarding one of my sneaky samples, revealed to the sampled artist’s publisher via that site.

In other sampling news, CMU also recently covered Drake successfully arguing fair use for one of his samples. The sampled artist was Jimmy Smith, with a snippet appearing in Drake’s “Pound Cake.” It’s a sample of a spoken word bit from 1982’s “Jimmy Smith Rap” where Jimmy states that “jazz is the only real music that’s going to last, all that other bullshit is here today and gone tomorrow, but jazz is, was and always will be.”

The case is curious because Drake cleared the recording — usually the only requirement in sample clearance — but Smith’s estate argues that he should have cleared the ‘lyrics’ as well. So, Drake went for a fair use defense for his appropriation of the lyrics.

I’ve written before how fair use is a tricky argument. There aren’t any set-in-stone conditions that qualify for fair use, but there are some loose guidelines. In the end, it’s left to the opinion of the court. And surprisingly (to me), the court ruled in Drake’s favor.

CMU:

In the words of the Second Circuit: “The message of the ‘Jimmy Smith Rap’ is one about the supremacy of jazz to the derogation of other types of music, which – unlike jazz – will not last. On the other hand, ‘Pound Cake’ sends a counter message – that it is not jazz music that reigns supreme, but rather all ‘real music’, regardless of genre”.

The court goes on: “‘Pound Cake’ criticises the jazz-elitism that the ‘Jimmy Smith Rap’ espouses. By doing so, it uses the copyrighted work for ‘a purpose, or imbues it with a character, different from that for which it was created’”. Which, the judges reckon, is sufficient to constitute fair use.

That’s a coherent and straight-forward opinion. But I still feel the ruling could have gone either way. As I’ve said before if you’re going to argue fair use then be ready to defend that in court. And keep your fingers firmly crossed.

🔗→ Artist News Business News Labels & Publishers Legal Setlist Setlist: Top ten legal battles – The Kraftwerk sampling case
🔗→ US appeals court rules that Drake’s Jimmy Smith sample is definitely fair use

A Tale of Two Copyright Rulings

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This week saw a couple of big events in the world of music copyright. First off, resolution to the Kraftwerk “Metal On Metal” case in the EU courts, as mentioned previously. Here’s Complete Music Update:

The court said in a statement yesterday: “Phonogram producers have the exclusive right to authorise or prohibit reproduction in whole or in part of their phonograms. Consequently, the reproduction by a user of a sound sample, even if very short, taken from a phonogram must, in principle, be regarded as a reproduction ‘in part’ of that phonogram so that such a reproduction falls within the exclusive right granted to the phonogram producer”.

But what about the artistic freedom of the sampler that the German Constitutional Court was so concerned about? Well, the ECJ has put some constraints on its main ruling. […] In the words of the court: “Where a user, in exercising the freedom of the arts, takes a sound sample from a phonogram in order to embody it, in a modified form unrecognisable to the ear in another phonogram, that is not a ‘reproduction’”. That conclusion is necessary, the court then added, to properly balance the rights of an intellectual property owner with the rights of artistic freedom.

There’s been the myth of a time allowance on samples, that if one samples only two-seconds (or another arbitrary small amount) then, legally, everything is okay. This has never been true in the short history of sample litigation. The issue is identifiably and uniqueness. If, say, a jury can point to a phrase and agree that it’s an unauthorized appropriation of a master recording (a sample) then it’s likely deemed copyright infringement. The length doesn’t matter.

The confusion is probably due to the lack of precedent and definition in the US courts. There hasn’t been a high profile episode like the Kraftwerk complaint yet. So, while the ruling of the EU court doesn’t necessarily say anything new (and it doesn’t add any new limitations, despite what some clickbait headlines might lead one to believe) it is good to have the context fully explained by a legal body.

Then there’s the court’s additional opinion on the artist who artistically messes with a sample to the point of ambiguity. Of course, that artist is in the clear — thanks, EU court — but that’s not so much because it’s ‘artistic freedom.’ It’s that ideally, no one would identify the errant sample in the first place. In other words, sample away. Just be sure to muck that thing up beyond all recognition.

The other big copyright news concerns this Katy Perry vs. Flame outcome. Rolling Stone:

A jury unanimously ruled that Katy Perry’s 2013 hit single “Dark Horse” improperly copied Christian rapper Flame’s 2009 song “Joyful Noise.” The nine-member federal jury in a Los Angeles determined that Perry and her co-writers and producers will owe [$2.78 million in] damages for copyright infringement. […]

Perry, who was not present when the verdict was read, testified that she had never heard “Joyful Noise,” nor heard of Flame, before the lawsuit. Her co-writers testified similarly. Flame’s lawyers responded that the song was widely distributed, with millions of plays on YouTube and Spotify, and reminded the jury of Perry’s origins in the Christian music scene. His team argued that Perry and her team had ripped off the main beat and instrumental line of “Joyful Noise.”

One remarkable aspect is the quoting of YouTube and Spotify plays as evidence that obviously everyone’s heard the song. Umm … okay. Have Spotify plays been argued as evidence in court before?

My feelings, but dialed down a bit, echo those of YouTuber Adam Neely in this video (and kudos for pointing out the similarity of the phrase in question to a famous song by The Art of Noise, which I haven’t seen anyone else mention):

Additionally, Flame’s Marcus Gray added in his original complaint that “Joyful Noise” has been “irreparably tarnished by its association with the witchcraft, paganism, black magic, and Illuminati imagery evoked by the same music in ‘Dark Horse.‘” Of course, there are some kooky internet ‘theories’ out there about Katy Perry and the Illuminati. But I don’t know why people fear the Illuminati so much … if this all-powerful organization couldn’t help Katy Perry win this case then I doubt they’re competent enough to secretly run the world.1Though a hidden overload’s incompetency could explain the current state of affairs.

Conny Plank: The Potential of Noise, a Son’s Tribute

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The documentary Conny Plank: The Potential Of Noise was more touching than I expected. The film is a collaboration of director Reto Caduff and Stephan Plank, Conny’s son. Stephan drives the documentary as conversations with musicians who worked with Conny Plank help him understand and rediscover his father.

Conny Plank died of cancer at 47 when Stephan was just 13. A lot of Stephan’s memories of his father revolve around these odd musicians who stayed and worked at the farmhouse studio. Often the musicians would join the family for dinner (indulgently prepared by Stephan’s mother Christa), and they would become Stephan’s temporary playmates in between sessions. So, in this documentary, Stephan is meeting people who not only have perspectives on his father but are also part of shadowy childhood memories. The musicians are also taken aback — the last time they saw Stephan he was a child and an oblivious studio mascot.

The highlight of the documentary is Stephan’s meeting with the classic rap duo Whodini. Did you remember that Conny Plank produced part of Whodini’s first album? I forgot, too, until this film pleasantly reminded me. Whodini was an upstart act in their late teens, suddenly flown to a farmhouse in rural Germany in a bold choice by their label. The duo grew to love the eccentric but brilliant Conny Plank, and this love and respect pour out of their interview segment. Stephan is visibly emotional as he hears another warm story of the universal impact and guiding influence of his father. Even I choked up a little.

There’s so much more in this film, including interviews with Michael Rother (Neu! and — early on — Kraftwerk guitarist), Eurythmics’ Dave Stewart (who may have been the last to work with Plank), and Holger Czukay (Can). Czukay comes off as kind of a jerk in his honesty about how Conny cared more about his studio than his relationship with his young son. It seems that Stephan has come to terms with this.

Noticeably absent is Brian Eno who stepped into Plank’s studio on more than one occasion. A section on the recording of Devo’s first album allows Eno most of his screen time, and that’s given to Gerald Casale talking about how he didn’t like Eno’s attempt to add his ‘pretty’ vocals and synth lines throughout the record.

Conny Plank: The Potential Of Noise is inspiring and a stirring tribute to a person who lived the creative life. But most of all it’s the story of a son finding his talented but distant father. With Father’s Day approaching, I can’t think of a better movie to watch, especially for those of us missing our dads.

Conny Plank: The Potential Of Noise currently streaming on Amazon Prime and available as a ‘rental’ on other services. And here’s a fine interview with Stephan Plank about the documentary. For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure the no-show Stephan refers in that piece is Eno, not Bono.