Album: Tago Mago
Artist: Can
Born: Cologne, Germany
Released: February 1971
Genre: Krautrock
Influenced: Brian Eno, New Order, Happy Mondays, Radiohead, Caribou
Can existed further outside the pop mainstream than even the Velvet Underground. Influenced by the avant-garde (the core duo of Irmin Schmidt and Holger Czukay both studied under Stockhausen) and classical music, they managed to marry these elements with psychedelic pop. By the time of their third LP release, Tago Mago, they had swapped New Yorker Malcolm Mooney on lead vocals with Japan's Damo Suzuki, who was more a passive than dominant force in the band. As Julian Cope says, this is "huge free rock", mixing African polyrhythms, funk break beats, barely audible lyrics and locked-tight grooves to create something entirely new. About 2mins into Paperhouse, that distinctive Krautrock repetitive groove is in evidence (enhanced by Suzuki's whispered intoning of "you just can't give them no more"), interspersed with heavy drum kicks and finished off with a wall of sound.
Mushroom is the closest Can gets on the record to a conventional song structure, but the relaxed and darkly atmospheric groove seems to grind to a halt halfway through the song, before being revived by Suzuki's primal screaming. Oh Yeah is one of the highlights of the record for me, creating an entirely new musical language. They were literally dropping a bomb (you can hear the nuclear explosion and precipitous fallout), integrating swirling keyboards and backwards-taped vocals and guitar effects that sound like the template for Radiohead's most innovative work. On Halleluhwah, you can see Can's influence reaching forward more than two decades again, into the baggy (dance-oriented rock and funky drum beat) sound of the Happy Mondays and Primal Scream. Aumgn, with its speed-shifting waves of sounds and religious chanting, sounds more like the occult than anything summoned up by Black Sabbath or any other Alesteir Crowley acolyte. This is drone music ground zero. Peking O is so odd I've still no idea what to make of it, but Bring Me Coffee or Tea feels like returning to the light, with the band rediscovering its groove, albeit one that feels like it's from ancient times. This record is still the weirdest, most brilliant trip I've ever been on.
Can existed further outside the pop mainstream than even the Velvet Underground. Influenced by the avant-garde (the core duo of Irmin Schmidt and Holger Czukay both studied under Stockhausen) and classical music, they managed to marry these elements with psychedelic pop. By the time of their third LP release, Tago Mago, they had swapped New Yorker Malcolm Mooney on lead vocals with Japan's Damo Suzuki, who was more a passive than dominant force in the band. As Julian Cope says, this is "huge free rock", mixing African polyrhythms, funk break beats, barely audible lyrics and locked-tight grooves to create something entirely new. About 2mins into Paperhouse, that distinctive Krautrock repetitive groove is in evidence (enhanced by Suzuki's whispered intoning of "you just can't give them no more"), interspersed with heavy drum kicks and finished off with a wall of sound.
Mushroom is the closest Can gets on the record to a conventional song structure, but the relaxed and darkly atmospheric groove seems to grind to a halt halfway through the song, before being revived by Suzuki's primal screaming. Oh Yeah is one of the highlights of the record for me, creating an entirely new musical language. They were literally dropping a bomb (you can hear the nuclear explosion and precipitous fallout), integrating swirling keyboards and backwards-taped vocals and guitar effects that sound like the template for Radiohead's most innovative work. On Halleluhwah, you can see Can's influence reaching forward more than two decades again, into the baggy (dance-oriented rock and funky drum beat) sound of the Happy Mondays and Primal Scream. Aumgn, with its speed-shifting waves of sounds and religious chanting, sounds more like the occult than anything summoned up by Black Sabbath or any other Alesteir Crowley acolyte. This is drone music ground zero. Peking O is so odd I've still no idea what to make of it, but Bring Me Coffee or Tea feels like returning to the light, with the band rediscovering its groove, albeit one that feels like it's from ancient times. This record is still the weirdest, most brilliant trip I've ever been on.
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