Traveling the ‘range’, Zippi and Peron take a flight of fantasy on the tambourine shaking and toms-pattered, tribal barrage, Gypsy caravan trail ‘Gammes’. For what intent or purpose? Unless you speak French it’s anyone’s guess. Building from workshop-toiled trance into a drum beating and growling drone, ‘the venture’ features Peron and his comrade chewing the fat, conversing in the French tongue. Not such a stretch for a band whose biggest selling album, the Faust Tapes, was entirely complied from cutting room floor outtakes and discarded ideas, there are the usual continuing misadventures of a schizoid piano (resonating melodious classicism to a rabid version of Tom & Jerry, scuttling across the drum skins and keyboard), the twee pastoral, timeless signature guitar odes (this time corrupting the atavistic four-string Cavaquiñho) and free jazz shenanigans, permeating throughout.Ī resounding anvil chimed signal rings out on the album’s most lively Teutonic brawler ‘Sur le venture’. Half the album is made up of silly season strung-out and springy vignettes and Musique concrète, such as the inner workings of an antiquarian clock and Japanese like meandered plucked ‘Nähmaschine’ (which translates as ‘sewing machine’), and sawing timber actioner ‘Der Kaffee Kocht’ (‘the coffee boils’). Testing the waters, the duo’s Foley rich collages – from building site to, what could be, abattoir – are surprisingly reigned in pushing only so far and looking for a rhythm throughout, rather than caustically bombastic and hypnotically draining. Laid down to prompt and encourage, the Peron and Zappi Diermeir (sitting behind the totem drum kit but also known to throw his weight around extracting sounds from concrete mixers and large metallic objects) partnership are even inviting local artists to join them on an accompanying tour the spirit of enterprising sonic manipulation and deafening cacophony offered up to anyone who wishes to stand alongside them. As much an experimental suite as a less hostile and less mischievous confrontation with the audience, j US t (pronounced ‘just us’) is an apparent foundation stone, open to further contributions from outsiders. A bestial prowling mix of Byzantium trepidation and whining, esoteric West Coast acid rock, the second group of maverick Teutonic sonic explorers to fight under the Faust moniker (fellow original member, Hans Joachim Irmler heads up a parallel incarnation of the band), run the iconic X-ray fist banner up the flag pole to see who’ll salute it. ![]() ![]() From the outset Jean-Herv é Peron’s repeating battleship grey, pulsation bass notes on the introduction of the monotonous ‘Gerubeit’ reinforce a sound that followers of Faust will be both familiar with and craving for.
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