Reconsider your endorsement of the mollifying aspects of electronic music, as Müller, Kahn and Möslang have returned to divulge another abundant hour of their aural calisthenics which also act as a stimulator without the need of a medical prescription. These six tracks were recorded in 2007 during a series of twelve concerts in South America, yet in their meticulousness they sound as if preconceived in a studio, such is the scientist-like charisma transpiring from the involving contraptions of this decentralizing trio.
This methodical analysis of a sweltering micro-world, where hypercritical expropriations of instrumental physiognomy and inviolable appliance-generated irritableness remunerate our distaste for the frivolous connotations of contemporary masquerades, causes the large part of today’s electronica to sound antediluvian. There’s substance here, that’s the difference. People who declare of having seen the light – while ignoring that “fractal” and “consonance” don’t belong in the same sphere, unless the ears are developed beyond doubt - could even find the nerve to proclaim that this is not really music, that these fabrications of polymorphous propagations, implacably austere investigations of an organic inanimateness, indicate the road to a place where nothing results as callous, excoriating and detrimental as a sonic process. Then, why does this stuff rejuvenates so much? What’s the rationale behind this implausible forthrightness? What idiotic dissertation should deny the only purpose for this biologically artificial combination to exist, namely symbolizing a fruit fallen from an unlikely type of tree?
The legitimisation of intolerance is nearer than you think, often rooted in what’s generally considered as an “open-minded” intellectual environment. It’s too easy to throw a record either in the cauldron of one-a-day-masterpieces that get forgotten after a week or in the closet of ignorable-because-they’re-not-my-friend brilliant releases. The probationary intelligence of these artists - not to mention Müller’s classic “whop-whop-whop-whop” always welcomed on these shores, a heart starting to beat again following a difficult surgery – won’t score many points for friendliness but surely pave the way for that sort of untidiness whose lineaments are nevertheless extremely alluring. Self-congratulatory artistic debauchery be damned.
For 4 Ears
