After not ranting about local politics for about half a year, I have finally found a reason to write about something that is more of the kind I initially started this blahg for. It's the arts that I live for and adore so much. In this case a guy from around here, and his band, who happen to be the next big thing. For that very reason only I am already hearing those voices discarding them for being hyped on mainstream media and signed on a major record label. Let me tell you: This hype is justified, and if it didn't happen you might very well listen in, only to then yell at the internet how they don't get the recognition they deserve. This article is written in English, because you might be reading this in place quite abroad, even overseas, and if that is the case I hope when this act hits your town someday soon (which is becoming more and more likely every day now) you are aware of all the reasons not to miss them. If you are based abroad from my point of view, that is Germany: It's pronounced [Yehsper Moonkh]. I feel the need to say this having heard American tourorists going on and on about how impressive Champs Ulyssus was (...in Paris...Wait for it...yeah).
I am aware that I am entering serious fanboy territory here. They are playing a type of music that I love very much, giving it a value that can only come from true dedication (having a blast while doing it surely doesn't hurt). It's that Blues, not some whacky attempt that a lot of too white, or too young, or too disconnected acts keep ending up with, once they try to enter those territories. But the real thing, with all the grit and grandeur of southern swamps, rust-covered factory ruins, worn out porches, roadside brothel rhinestones, all the glamour and hardships that have been shaping this powerful genre over a century, only: none of these things really exist here in Munich, Bavaria (anymore). Yet their music seems so enticing to all kinds of people you'd never see ordering three fingers of rye at the barrelhouse. It's raw, it's faboulous, it is what we call Aggropop (here at Aggroblog) So how can it be real? Well, there is:
The band. They are just a bunch of friends, who happen to be very talented and are into the same kinda groove. The resulting energy just can't be achieved by studio musicians cast by a record label in order to play backing tracks for some talented singer. Never.
The love. This one is weighing in heavily for me, it might resonate less with others. What I can sign: No matter where you are from or what hue your skin shades into, you have the blues from time to time. Puristans claim that a young white boy from a middle-class background doesn't know anything about it. I call bullcrap. It's a fundamental feeling, everybody has a heartache at least once, or the fear of losing oneself, or the notion that the man is the only one benefiting from the eight hours of labour you keep providing from day to day, and I am so happy when I hear a white boy who isn't country-whining all about it. Claiming to be from the ghetto when you're not sounds stupid, crying out how you feel while hitting all the blue notes doesn't. Being able to express the blues is a rare thing. These old recordings from the 30ies, and what stoners made of it in the sixties were the only ones that stuck with me from all the old stuff my parents had when I was a child. First chance I had to buy my own music (back then in the early nineties we couldn't steal it off the internet) I discarded most of those to rather explore broken amens, tainted metal, free bop, atonal minimal electronica. Then I discovered Tom Waits, and instantly declared him my hero. Beat, poetry, emotion, in a mood so different from anything else I had ever heard. I bet, some moment Jesper must have had as well at some point of his personal musical journey. If not, I'd be dead wrong. And he can pull off a Waits tribute without making a joke out of himself: Some of those sounds he must have caught from "Bone Machine" or "Real gone", but he is not just ripping them off, put a fuzz on the mike, try to sound like someone who is too distinctive to be sounded alike. He's not imitating, he's nodding his head, to then make it his own. What he keeps throwing up in your face happens to, every now then, sound even better than the original. This is a huge thing for me to say, I'd maybe say that about Holly Cole. List is closed.
The skill. They start a set with a distorted drop so mean, no Dubstep DJ could pull it of, followed by lines so clean and well articulated, that it makes you wanna fill your beer with some tears. It strikes me again and again, how much can be achieved by so few people with so few chords. I call their performance epic and poetic because of it's storytelling value. Bonamassa ist faster, but he will never be able to set a mood like this. He probably doesn't want to. The point is: A great musician is not measured by technical stats alone. That moment when a ballad comes, and all the guys get annoyed because the girlfriend gets all gooey-eyed, it simply doesn't happen at their concerts. With this voice and intonation you can go to "Schnulzenmodus" anytime, without making our beards hurt because we know we are not being left alone here. We enjoy the ride, let the woman slide for a while, and wait for the next mean drop, which is definitely on it's way. The ballads contain enough of Soul and Jazz tonality fragments to keep a nerd like me entertained, enough post-punk for the kids, enough vintage for the elders, but not enough of any element to annoy the next person. Even as a generic concert goer without any special preferences, let alone a connection to the heritage of these genres: I dare you to find a moment you hate, or even find as much as uninteresting, even boring.
Speaking of the drop. One of my all time favourite guitar solos is from "Summertime", Big Brother and the holding company's "Cheap tricks" version. That sends shivers down my spine, everytime I hear it. One kind of ambient death grunge melancholy, these guys do it all the time. How dare you!
The little things. Enjoy listening to a conversation between bass and drums, when they build these mini shuffles, breaks and lags into a rhythm section loop, while everybody is supposed to be focussed on the harp solo. The first one I considered a mistake, but then my grin got broader and broader.
They are so cute. They are a bunch of handsome guys, you have to admit that. And girls like themselves a handsome guy, weeping the guitar gently, singing of girls and whatnot. Always have. When I went out for a smoke during one concert (because that is what you have to do, if you are not on stage) there was this group of people standing around, complaining about all the teenage girls in first row. Why is that a problem? Just saying: If I had a 13yo daughter I'd rather take her to ten of these gigs than to one Bieber/One Republic/insert cute crap here. I'd actually try to get her hooked on this stuff, so I can go. Only to then and there embarrass the shit out of her, apeshit I'd go in first row. Let them have it, they will have to learn they are not the girl he's singing about. If they still come back: Well played, Sir. You have just handed the flame of a great and long musical history over to the next generation. Which brings me to my last point,
The maximum occupancy. If you are playing a block party in Munich, in front of a very mixed crowd consisting of people, who either live around that neighbourhood or Passers-by who are stopping for a falafel and a beer, keep entertaining them all so well until everybody from ages 6-66 is dancing to a weary tune from the 20ies, you must be doing something fundamentally right there.
"No pharmaceutical product could ever equal the rush you get when the band hits that groove, the people are dancing, shouting, and swaying, and the house is rocking!" - Elwood Blues, 2000
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