Barbican Centre, London, Sat
8th April
If pressed to name my most favourite
band of all, I don't quite know who I would go for. But legendary
Krautrock band Can would certainly be on the shortlist. And now
they're... well, they're not exactly revived. In fact in the
programme, former keyboardist Irmin Schmidt stated quite firmly “I
hate revivals – revivals mean you reanimate something dead. That's
not what I ever did.” Instead, there's two separate sets – each
with it's own nature.
Which is probably all to the good. Rob
Young, who has just published a book about the band, comments on the accompanying podcast that many have tried to sound
like Can, but no-one has ever managed it. And in fact many of the
best bands where influenced by without being imitative of them, such
as the Fall or early Public Image. So it's the best idea for prior
participants to do something new, but in the spirit of what went
before.
In the first half, former keyboardist
Irmin Schmidt conducted a new orchestral piece, 'Can
Dialog', (co-written with Gregor Schwellenbach). And in
fact formally speaking Can were something of an anomaly in his
career, before their formation he was conduction, and since he's
mostly composed film and TV scores.
The most obvious point of comparison might seem Philip Glass' orchestral versions of Bowie. But rather than a
reworking in a new musical setting it was a whole new composition
which incorporated Can themes along the way. (“Weaving quotations
and motifs”, as the programme put it.) It was similar to the way
classical composers of old would incorporate folk tunes, even if in
Schmidt's case both were his.
The Can contributions mostly appeared
as melodies, floating through the work, often introduced by the wind
instruments. And, for a band best known for maintaining a groove, they
turn out to have quite affecting and memorable melodies. There seemed
to be quite long sections which were Can-free (unless my ears missed
them). But the orchestra would often play rhythmically of it's own
accord, stopping their appearances as feeling merely decorative. It
felt like Schmidt collaborating with himself, able to find harmonious
links between his elder and junior incarnations.
Those many chairs were then cleared
away and the second set given over to a rock band setting. As with This Heat recently, an enlarged ensemble (eight in all)
performed amended and updated versions of Can tracks. In fact both
gigs featured Thurston Moore on guitar. Perhaps he's just moved in
backstage.
If you were to say Can never had to
sound like Can, that might sound like an inevitable truism,
applicable to any band. Yet they weren't really a band for rehearsing
numbers until they were well-drilled enough to perform them. Given
their own dedicated practise space (in a castle), they'd improvise
freely then edit things down for release. And they rarely performed
numbers the same way twice.
Except you can over-emphasise all of
that. In fact the most incredulous element of the story, hanging out
in a castle, is the only unarguably true part. Like the Velvets, a
strong influence in the early days, they mixed free-form jams with
quite strong songs, and that combination is a large part of their
appeal. But it was a way of working which kept their playing organic,
like it was all happening in the moment. They were agile and sinewy,
not musclebound.
With Schmidt not rejoining the band for
the second half, Holger Czukay too ill to travel and the sad death of Jaki Liebezeit in January, original
vocalist Malcolm Mooney was left as the only actual Can member
onstage. Yet ironically he sometimes felt like a weak link, the
Mooney who'd repeat phrases until he'd go off into a trance state not
always present. And it seemed strange to watch him reading lyrics
which at the time had been arbitrarily plucked from thin air. It
worked much better when, rather than providing lead vocals, he'd fall
back in the mix, or when the players would take over entirely.
The twin guitars of Moore and James
Seawards (who plays in Moore's current group) were definitely
hypnotic and powerful. The twin drummers of Steve Shelley and
Valentina Magoletti could work just as well, but were over-utilised
and kept on their dual-powered, double-barelled setting too much. A
track like 'Thief', requires something more
intimate, not to be walked on with hobnail boots.
Were a Can tribute band to exist (and
one probably does), what might they sound like? I imagine they'd
learn the songs ably enough, but only manage a faux approximation of
those trance-out grooves. The most essential element of any band of
course being the most irreproducable – the chemistry between the
players. If anything this band was the opposite, quite ready to take
off and often majestic in flight, but less conversant with the songs.
It was 'Deadly Doris, 'Uphill' and 'You
Doo Right' which came across, rather than 'Thief'
or 'Mary, Mary'. Overall it seemed the
post-Velvets powerhouse Can who were being channelled. And channelled
superbly. But there were so many other faces to Can...
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