...zufällige Gedanken zu verschiedenen Themen, die nicht nur mit Hannover, Musik, Punk, Politik zu tun haben ...
14.11.25
11.11.25
8.11.25
29.9.25
26.9.25
Die Sonne kontrollieren
23.9.25
20.9.25
14.5.25
Front (Hamburg 1981)
Front: The Lost Tapes. For decades, it was the phantom album - the one that might have been, could have been, but never was. Whispers of its existence have haunted the stories of a time when German music stood at the precipice of reinvention, embracing a wild sense of new beginnings. The mystery of Front fit the mood perfectly. No interviews, no photos, no spotlight, just music, as elusive as the band itself. As with so many stories in pop music, the roots of this one stretch back to England, late 1970s. Punk had exploded, ripping through rock’s conventions and leaving space for something new. They called it post-punk, a name almost too clean for the unpolished energy it unleashed. Across the Channel in West Germany, cities like Berlin, Düsseldorf, and Hamburg became laboratories for a sonic avant-garde. In rehearsal rooms and on underground stages, bands searched for sounds that could challenge, provoke, and inspire.
It was in this atmosphere that Front emerged, forged from the remnants of Hamburg punk ban d Coroners. The lineup: Joern Zimmermann (vocals), Godehard Buschkühl (guitar), Ralf Hertwig (drums), and Jürgen Keller (bass). Their output was fleeting but unforgettable. Seven tracks a single, Alternative City West; an EP, Georg; and a contribution (Blech und Liebe) to the cult compilation Lieber Zuviel Als Zu Wenig — all released on Hamburg’s legendary Zickzack label. What made Front special was their uncanny ability to sound unbound by geography or time. Drawing from the kinetic energy of Manchester’ s clubs, the gritty cool of New York’s underground, and their own German precision, they blended funk, dub, and new wave into something irresistibly danceable, daring, and sophisticated. Rhythms were meticulously refined, the studio became an instrument, and their lyrics opened a new frontier of style and delivery. Even the great John Peel counted himself a fan. And then, silence. In the summer of ’81, guitarist Büschkühl departed. The remaining trio pressed on, planning a debut album for autumn of that year, as hinted in the liner notes of Lieber Zuviel Als Zu Wenig. But before the album could materialize, Front simply disappeared. No farewell, no dramatic split. They were gone, like a ship lost in fog. The truth? There was no dramatic collapse. No feuds, no betrayal. It was simply the nature of the scene. Bands were fluid, musicians drifted from one project to another. Keller found his way to Andreas Dorau and Holger Hiller’s early solo work. Hertwig joined Palais Schaumburg. Zimmermann hit the road with Dorau. Somewhere along the way, Front slipped through the cracks, leaving behind nothing but a few enigmatic records and a growing mythology.
The Resurrection. Forty years passed. The surviving members were having dinner with Andreas Dorau when the conversation turned to Front. Godehard Buschkühl, their guitarist, had recently passed away, and the mood was heavy. Then Dorau spoke up: That album. It has to finally be released. The words sparked a search. Zimmermann unearthed an old, dusty reel of tape — a forgotten multitrack recording from 1981, captured on a Grundig TK845. The same pioneering technique that allowed the Beatles to layer sound had preserved Front’s lost demos in their raw, unpolished glory. What followed was a painstaking two - year restoration effort. The band pieced the album together, track by track. Toward the end, AI technology stepped in, helping refine the fragile audio while preserving its analog soul. What emerged wasn’t just a collection of songs; it was a time capsule, a glimpse into the moment when Front was poised to change everything before vanishing. And now, after all these years, Front’s long rumored album is here. Fresh, urgent, and full of the restless energy that defined an era. But this album isn’t just a resurrection; it’s a revelation. It’s proof that even the most fleeting bands can leave behind something eternal. Is this the end of Front’s story, or the beginning of a new chapter? Who knows?
2.5.25
13.3.25
Valley Girl
"Moon," says my father, shaking me awake on a school night. I have a brief What now? reaction, then see he is in a good mood. "Come downstairs," he says. "We’re gonna record a song."
* * *
I AM STILL GROGGY, WITH unbrushed teeth, as I follow my father to the studio and the soundproof vocal booth. I slip on the headphones and he adjusts the mic to my height. It’s starting to dawn on me—he read my letter, we are doing my idea, it’s actually happening.
"You’re just going to talk and improvise as that funny voice," he says.
"Okay," I say, like we do this all the time.
Then he exits the booth and heads for his state-of-the-art control room. From there he makes sure I can hear him in both ears, that I can hear myself and the track, that the levels are right, and that I can see him from where I am standing when he gives me his hand signals. "Listen first so you can hear where you’ll come in, between the choruses." Then my ears are flooded with the instantly catchy bass line. I "hear/see" the talking section as a bracketed space I am supposed to stay inside of before and after the shorter sections where the band sings, "Valley girl, she’s a Valley girl . . ."
I smile and I feel a swell of happy energy. He really did listen to me.
I easily jump into the character I do that he likes. I exaggerate the way girls at my school speak and just imagine what they would talk about, blended with riffing on my own experiences in my house. My dad snortlaughs from the control room after the first take, then asks me to extrapolate on the stuff he remembers me saying that he thinks is funny. "Say more about the cat box."
"Okay," I say, laughing too.
"Talk about bagging your face," he says. "Try to work in ‘gag me with a spoon.’"
"Got it." I find it fun and easy to pretend I am this other person and just make up something silly on the spot. I also enjoy the fun challenge of trying to include his requests in a natural way. It is a form of acting. I feel playful and professional, seen and heard. I let myself say anything that comes to mind.
"Throw in a ‘tubular,’" he says. I do. And so it goes, me blabbing on and on in a stream-of-consciousness way and my father laughing and urging me on with his little prompts. Bass line, bracket, chorus, bracket, chorus, bracket, outro, pause, prompt, repeat . . .
Then he makes a hand motion that lets me know it’s done, we got it. Then I hear his voice in my ears asking me to come into the control room to hear a rough version from start to finish. Then a hug. It all goes by in a blink. Then I am back upstairs in my bed wishing we could keep recording and that the hug lasted forever.
aus Moon Unit Zappa "Earth to Moon. A Memoir"
3.2.25
2.3.24
21.12.23
Hannover DVDs
12.9.22
Knut Kiesewetter: Fahr mit mir den Fluss hinunter (1972)
Fahr' mit mir den Fluss hinunter in ein unbekanntes Land
Denn dort wirst du Leute sehen, die bis heute unbekannt
Sie sind nett und freundlich, doch sie sehen etwas anders aus
Als die Leute, die du kennst bei dir zu Haus
Sie sind grün und wenn wir vorübergeh'n
Dann tu bitte so, als hättest du die Farbe nicht geseh'n
Sie sind grün und sie glauben fest daran
Dass die Farbe der Haut nichts über uns sagen kann
Ja, es gab mal eine Zeit, es ist wohl hundert Jahre her
Da gefiel wohl diesen Leuten ihre Farbe gar nicht mehr
Sie beschlossen, sich zu färben, um mal besser auszuseh'n
Denn die grüne Haut sei wirklich nicht sehr schön
Sie sind grün, doch sie malten sich rot an
Denn sie wussten nicht, ein roter Mann ist bald ein toter Mann
Sie sind grün und sie wurden sehr bald klug
Denn zum Sterben ist rot nun wirklich nicht schön genug
Nun versuchten sie's mit gelb, doch das hielt auch nur ein paar Jahr'
Denn mit Fingern zeigte man auf sie und sprach von gelber Gefahr
Sie berieten sich und kurz darauf, da fragte Frau und Mann
Ja, warum man nicht mal schwarz versuchen kann
Sie sind grün, doch als sie sich schwarz gefärbt
Hatten sie das Joch der Sklaverei schon lange mitgeerbt
Sie sind grün und man hat sie bald belehrt
Alle Freiheit der Welt ist Schwarzen nun mal verwehrt
Kurz bevor sie resignierten, waren sie zum Schluss bereit
Ihre Haut zu bleichen, denn das war die letzte Möglichkeit
Doch es änderte sich nichts war man als Weiße noch so lieb
Man war andrer Völker Ausbeuter und Dieb
Sie sind grün, doch jetzt finden sie das schön
Und sie tragen es mit stolz, es ist gleich jedem anzuseh'n
Sie sind grün und sie haben rausgekriegt
Es ist wirklich nicht gut, wenn man sich nur selbst belügt
28.6.22
28.5.22
25.5.22
7.5.22
Breaking down David Bowie's 'Heroes' – Tony Visconti & Erin Tonkon
Wer mehr in der Richtung sehen will gebe "Rick Beato" bei YouTube ein...
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