CAN: SOUNDTRACKS (1970)
1) Deadlock; 2) Tango
Whiskyman; 3) Deadlock (version 2); 4) Don't Turn The Light On, Leave Me Alone;
5) Soul Desert; 6) Mother Sky; 7) She Brings The Rain.
Next to Tago
Mago, this album always gets a relatively bad rap as a «transitional»
effort, and, well, objectively it is «transitional»
— not only is this a fairly non-conceptual mix of various pieces of music that
Can composed for contemporary movie soundtracks to make a living, but it also
features both their old vocalist and
the new one, Damo Suzuki, literally recruited from the street in Munich where
Czukay and Liebezeit found him busking outside a cafe. Clearly, it is hard to
approach this stuff from a completely unbiased perspective.
And yet, somehow I'd say that Soundtracks has the unexpected benefit
of encapsulating, in but 35 minutes, just about everything that Can were capable of. By being pulled together from
a variety of different sources, it is more diverse than any other record of
theirs. It does not let you get sick of either Mooney or Suzuki, whose incessant mumblings may fairly quickly lose their
artistic power and become an irritant (I am definitely not sure that his
presence all over Tago Mago is always
beneficial). It shows the band as masters of the trance-inducing jam and the occasional unusual pop hook. And
the only thing on which it goes easy is their experimentation with arhythmic
noise... which is actually fine by me, because to me, Can is all about rhythm; whenever the rhythm
section takes a break, they lose God status immediately.
Anyway, bias and prejudice notwithstanding,
nobody in his right mind ever says a word against ʻMother Skyʼ, a track with
which the Can truly arrives — and
blows away all jamming competition, with 14 minutes of the most badass sound
in the history of jam music, ever. No buildup, no «search for the right
groove»: out of nowhere, they immediately
jump into the right groove (of course, the track may have been cut out of a
much larger session), with two minutes of a shrill, sharp, unrelenting assault
on the senses — Liebezeit kicking like an overpaid slave driver, Czukay playing
little enticing melodic phrases on top of his own aggressive pounding, and
Karoli soloing like a demon, keeping the guitar at high-pitched ecstatic
heights without a single break between notes. All of which serves as an
introduction to the many subsequent sections, focusing on Suzuki's vocals, guitar
solos that alternate between Eastern drone and blues-rock, and just one brief
«soft» interlude where bongos replace standard percussion, to let you catch
your breath.
The main attraction of ʻMother Skyʼ is that it
is actually quite simple — it's not as if Karoli were playing some chords or
scales that had not been previously thought of, and the beat is standard, even
minimalistic 4/4 (reflecting the so-called Motorik
aesthetics). What puts it over the edge is the sheer force and intent invested
in the effort — it's as if the musicians believe that the fate of the world is
resting on their shoulders, that the universe remains stable only for as long
as they carry on their task with complete and utter commitment. On the other
side of the English Channel, only Hawkwind were committing themselves with
comparable dedication to the same kind of ritualistic primitivism — but
Hawkwind came with an atmosphere of corniness and could be laughed off (shouldn't, but could be), whereas Can come with something stranger and spookier.
That strangeness and spookiness manifests
itself in quite a few other bits on the album, of course, starting from the
very first seconds — the distorted guitar intro to ʻDeadlockʼ, sirening across
the living room, swirling around and finally crashing down into the mumbling
desperation of Suzuki's probably-epic vocals. ʻDeadlockʼ was the theme to a
spaghetti-western movie of the same name, so they were most likely going for a
Morricone-like effect, and there's plenty of echo, desperate shrillness, and
dangerous tones all right, but the song is based primarily on drone, so it's
like crossing Morricone with The Velvet Underground — to awesome results.
Then there's ʻDon't Turn The Right On, Reave Me
Aloneʼ (reflecting Suzuki's predictable struggle with pronunciation, though he
does make an effort to master the
liquidity), which somehow succeeds in conveying his characteristic «madness»
without having to resort to wild screaming or gibberish; and do not forget the
creepy acoustic licks, the deceivingly becalmed flute bits, and the unnerving
funky beat. ʻTango Whiskymanʼ is probably the weakest of the Suzuki tracks,
because its «tango» rhythmics, in the context of everything else here, sounds
somewhat parodic; however, hearing Suzuki try to sing a melodic pop melody,
come to think of it, may be the weirdest experience of 'em all.
Of the two Mooney tracks, ʻSoul Desertʼ would have
fit in very well on Monster Movie,
being the same kind of funky repetitive groove with heavy emphasis on
over-excited blabber — like a soul man gone crazy (which was more or less the
case); but ʻShe Brings The Rainʼ, which they used to close the album after the
thunderstorm of ʻMother Skyʼ, is a completely normal-sounding lounge jazz
number, with a completely normal (perhaps even too normal) vocal delivery; it only begins to go slightly psychedelic
towards the end, when the song's jazz rhythm chords are complemented with a
quiet, but persistent acid guitar solo (something that all vocal jazz records could
benefit from quite heavily, methinks!). On its own, perhaps, ʻShe Brings The
Rainʼ would never be a Can classic, but its positioning next to ʻMother Skyʼ is
a classic move, and somehow it feels like precisely the right missing piece to complete the puzzle and turn the whole
record into a small, elegant, 100%-efficient kaleidoscope of sound.
Anyway, best or not best, Soundtracks is totally essential Can, as well as a merciful
introduction for those who like to test their waters before wading in
chest-deep: once you get used to ʻMother Skyʼ, you're pretty much ready for
most of Tago Mago (which has its
fair share of great grooves, but, in my opinion, still has nothing on the sheer
all-out ferocity of ʻMother Skyʼ). The «soundtrack curse» may have unjustly
condemned the album to forever hanging in the shadow of its successors, or in
the shadow of all those other innumerable rock classics from 1970, but as long
as we still have time to savor all the classics, be sure to keep this one firmly
on the list, and here's some major thumbs up from me as an incentive.
I find "Tango Whiskyman" not only the best song on the album, but also one of greatest of all CAN songs. The verse is the classic CAN rhythm along with a cool guitar riff, and the chorus is super catchy and both uplifting and dark at the same time.
ReplyDelete"Deadlock" used to evoke in my mind a picture of a dirty, middle-eastern European city on a summer's day, with a long traffic jam and a bunch of sweaty, sad-looking people. Wish you hadn't said it's from a spaghetti western because now the concept falters a bit.
ReplyDeleteOverall, a very interesting record. I'm surprised they were able to pack that much variety of moods and styles on a relatively short LP.
I have to agree with the comment above about "Tango Whiskeyman" (it's written like that, I think). Odd to point out that song as one of the weakest tracks on the album.
ReplyDeleteok my mistake about the spelling.
ReplyDelete