Hier auf Langeoog ist Fussballromantik noch eine halbwegs leichte Nummer, weil so manches von Kindheit durchdrungen ist. Ich kann mich als BVB-Fan seit 1966 an jede Weltmeisterschaft erinern. Das Wembleytor sah ich mit meinem Blutsbruder noch in Schwarzweiss, mein Lieblingstorwart aller Zeiten, Hans Tilkowski, hatte keine Chance. Damals in London dabei war auch unser Vorstopper, Wolfgang Paul, der vor einigen Tagen gestorben ist. R.I.P. 1970, auch unvergesslich, „Schnelllliiinger“ und das „Jahrhundertspiel gehen die Italiener! 1974 waren dann die Holländer besser, aber wir hatten Gerd Müller.

Tempus fugit – nach 2014 schied Deutschland stets trostlos in den Vorrunden aus, und die aktuelle Mannschaft macht seit dem Ecuador-Spiel fast so wenig Hoffnung wie dieser unsägliche Bundestrainer. Im Vorfeld der WM trat Julian in einen Fettnapf nach dem anderen – erst die Abkanzelung von Undav, zuletzt der selbstgefällig nichtssagende Auftritt im Sportstudio (wäre das nicht so zum Fremdschämen gewesen, hätte er seinen Platz in der Geschichte dieser Traditionssendung des ZDF sicher gehabt – neben dem „Schweiger“ Norbert Grupe – die Älteren werden sich erinnern!), sowie der Wortbruch gegenüber Oliver Baumann zugunsten dieses „Torwarts mit der besonderen Aura“.

Julian Nagelsmann liebt seine eigene Eloquenz offenbat so sehr, dass er die Abzüge in der B-Note gar nicht mit bekommt, er parliert in einem leisen, wenig modulationsfreudigen up-tempo-staccato, als müsse analog zu den 180 beats von „hard core techno“ ebensoviele Worte pro Minute unterbringen. In dem Interview nach dem Ecuador-Flopspiel gab er sich renitent, besserwissend, abgenervt; nur wenige haben mitbekommen, dass er sich nach dem Schlusspfiff erstmal die Schiedsrichterin schnappte und zwei Minuten auf sie einredete wegen des völlig zurecht (!!!) zurückgenommenen Elfmeterpfiffs (die gleiche Schiedsrichterin, die Germany das komplett irreguläre 1:0 geschenkt hat – nach „hohem Spiel“ incl. Kopftreffer – mit freundlicher Unterstützung eines nicht minder verpeilten VARs!).

Man muss also kein Meister des Orakels sein, um zu erraten, wie es weitergeht. Nach einem quälerisch anzuschauenden oder überraschend leichtfüssigen Sieg gegen Paraguay wird „Die Mannschaft“ (alter abgeschaffter Werbesprech aus der Ära Oliver Bierhoff) gegen Frankreich sang- und klanglos ausscheiden. Natürlich könnte das auch schon heute Abend passieren. Wir können jedenfalls tief entspannt zuschauen, ob der flotte Herr Nagelsmann seiner „Spielidee“ weiterhin dezent bockig vertraut – mit dem derangierten Pavlovic auf der Sechs und dem „Kinderfussball“ (Marcel Reif) des sich selbst weiterhin suchenden Musiala. Egal. Nach der WM ist hochwahrscheinlch Schluss mit diesen auf Dauer so penetranten wie irrlichternden Auftritten eines Hochbegabten. Was Fussballromantik angeht, fällt mir eine andere Insellandschaft ein, die gerade ein modernes Fussballmärchen schreibt: Cap Verde!

(m.e.)

Hello, ladies and gentlemen! My name is Michael Engelbrecht, and this is my little introduction to this year‘s Punktfestival (from the margins). You have a minute? Fine. From 2005, 2006 onwards, I‘ve been so often at Punkt, enjoying the experimental vibe of the festival, its hunger for the unheard, the meeting of generations, the merging of old and new dreams – and finding new friends. It was pure joy to select magic concerts and live-remixes for my radio station. They were quite expensive, but worth every minute. In the case of an exciting duo of pianist Tigran Hamasyan and live samplist Jan Bang, listening to a few seconds on air were enough for producer Manfred Eicher to bring Tigran’s ECM debut „Atmosphères“ on its way. Released on Sep 2, 2016, it will have its 10th anniversary, funny coincidence, on the evening before Punkt starts this time. You‘ve never heard that quartet with Tigran, Jan, Eivind and Arve. Well, some things in life can be changed. You have an hour? Nice: „Three Days In Lugano“.

When I was younger, so much younger than today, one of my first ECM albums was SART, and it had a huge impact on me. Was there a world after The Kinks and The Beatles? I was sweet seventeen and immediately fell in love with that work. By that time I was already addicted to Miles Davis „electic albums“ like „Live At Fillmore East“ or „Bitches Brew“, but I didn‘t know at that time, that SART was (in parts) inspired by two concerts Jan Garbarek saw from „electric Miles“ in New York. From start to end SART transformed elements of that experience into a wholly different ambience of „nordic noir“, „nordic cool“, and „nordic free“. There was quite another handling of space and silences, stop-and-go-passages, explosions. I had to listen to that album again and again and again. And, to be honest, again.

Much later, when becoming a radio man in 1989, the influence of that „teenage revelation“ became quite obvious. I interviewed all of these influential, uncompromising artists – like bass man Arild Andersen, who is now a special guest of this year‘s Punktfestival. By the way, i never stopped listening to SART, it became a lifer, never stopped being an adventure. A few years ago, „LANDLOPER“ saw the light of day, Andersen’s first solo bass album, and a terrific one. Sounding like he had waited a whole life for the right moment. The moment arrived, with a special handling of space and silences, stop-and-go-passages, melody. Teriffic versions of „Lonely Woman“ and „Song for Che“ included. Besides, another favourite ECM cover. Where‘s the vinyl?

3–5 September | Kristiansand, Norway

The pioneering Punkt Festival returns in 2026 with three days of concerts, seminars and live remixes — bringing together some of the most distinctive voices in contemporary jazz, improvisation and experimental music. 

This year’s concert programme opens with a solo set by Norwegian drummer/composer Erland Dahlen, followed by the extraordinary Ethiopian singer , whose music draws on the Azmari vocal tradition and has been praised for its haunting, intense meeting of Ethiopian song, free jazz and chamber-like abstraction.

She is followed by a rare duo encounter between Nils Petter Molvær and Daniel Herskedal — two Norwegian brass innovators whose shared sense of space, electronics, melody and cinematic atmosphere promises a concert of unusual depth and resonance.

Friday brings the lyrical, border-crossing piano world of Greek composer and improviser Tania Giannouli , before Jan Bang presents Alighting , his forthcoming (due 2027) Punkt Editions album. The concert will be live remixed by Punkt co-founder Erik Honoré, who also mixed Alighting.

The evening continues with a major new meeting of three generations of Norwegian jazz: Bugge Wesseltoft , Arild Andersen and Gard Nilssen . The concert also marks the first Punkt appearance by ECM legend Arild Andersen — one of Norway’s most influential musicians, here joining two equally distinctive voices in a trio where deep experience, rhythmic imagination and open musical risk meet in real time.

Saturday’s programme moves from the fresh, beautifully unconventional sound of Henriette Eilertsen Trio — flute, cello/electronics and drums — to Cimota , a new Nordic quintet featuring members of Atomic and Streifenjunko, with music that moves between post-bop energy, refined ensemble writing and collective improvisation. 

The festival closes with the hypnotic, groove-based psychedelia of Goran Kajfeš Tropiques , one of the most compelling bands on the Swedish creative music scene.

At the heart of Punkt, as always, is the festival’s unique Live Remix concept: concerts are immediately reimagined by other artists, allowing the audience to experience music as both performance and transformation. The 2026 live remixers span several generations of Punkt’s live-remix practice: bass legend Arild Andersen joins live-sampling pioneer and Punkt co-founder Jan Bang, while vocalist and composer Ingri Jordahl, electroacoustic pianist and improviser Alessandra Bossa, and genre-bending producer Doglover95bring younger and expanded approaches to the format, including collaborations with students from the Live Remix Workshop. The Live Remix programme also features Erik Honoré with guests, Even Sigurdsen Røstad / Emanuel Bang / Audun Skeie, and a festival-closing remix by Bugge Wesseltoft’s New Conception of Jazz, here represented by Wesseltoft, Ingebrigt Håker Flaten and Anders Engen.

The renowned Punkt Seminar will also return in 2026, curated and hosted by David Toop on Thursday 3 and Friday 4 September. A composer, musician, author and curator whose work has shaped international thinking around sound, listening and experimental music since the 1970s, Toop is the author of influential books including Ocean of Sound , Sinister Resonance and Into the Maelstrom. The seminar will bring together a distinctive group of artists working across sound, performance, voice, image, improvisation and expanded forms of listening: Miki Yui, Lina Lapelytė, Vicki Bennett / People Like Us, Yara Asmar, Mike Cooper and Ecka Mordecai. Together, their practices move from microscopic electronics, field recordings and audio-visual collage to collective voice, lap steel, cello, scent, domestic sound worlds and highly personal forms of electroacoustic performance.

(Punktfestival HQ)

album Ingo J Biermann und Jan Bang on two hot contenders for your year’s end lists: Ed O’Briens „Blue Morpho“ and „Mattias de Craene & Black Koyo“ film „16, Lovers Lane“ (a Go-Betweens documentary) prose Graeme Thomson: In Another World – The Four Seasons of Talk Talk talk Ingo J Biermann und Stephan Schoenholtz im Gespräch mit Dag Johan Haugerud radio „Die ECM-Jahre von Steve Tibbetts und die „Klanghorizonte“ vom Mai 2026 (meine allerletzten Klanghorizonte Ende September enthalten lauter vertraute Namen – Graeme Thomson liest aus seinem Talk Talk-Buch – und wohl nur drei oder vier Aben von 2026 (neben den beiden Alben des Monats Juli gehören auch Ayumi Tanaka, Seefeel, Daniel Lanois, Lambchop und Shearwater zur „Patience der Horizonte“) television Sarah Dempster on „Criminal Record (2)“ archive Tom Pinnock on a timeless, oracular milestone from 1979: „This Heat“ („This Heat ended up being called post-punk for lack of any better options, and though their music has many of the now-familiar hallmarks of that genre — a heavy dub influence, a fascination with the streamlined metaphysics of German kosmische bands, particularly Can, and complex, heady concepts communicated via primeval methods – it still stands apart, with something alien and unnamable at its core.“ (R. Jackson, Aquarium Drunkard)

Kurzentschlossen, fuhr ich vier Stunden zur Fähre, setzte über, und quartierte mich in einem kleinen Appartment ein. Nur ein richtig heisser Tag in sieben langen Tagen, „Spring Hill Fair“ auf einem alten Walkman, Steve Swallows „kleine Wintermusik“, und Erinnerungen an den „den letzten Bus nach Woodstock“ – ich fühlte mich seltsam jung und sprang erst mal ins Meer, mit Blick zur roten Sonne, die bald ins kühle Nass eintauchen würde. Diesmal all alone, seltsam beschwingt, das Echo dunkler Wochen fast schon, aber nicht wirklich, lange her! „you think I’m young I’m not half those things / why did it rain? / the days ran away from us / heaven never knew / the chances that it left for us / fast and slow, breeze to wind…“

Die Romane, die ich gerade lese, nehmen einen Faden der Jugendzeit auf, meine Lust an rororo-Krimis, deren Cover ewig schwarzweiss waren (die neueren reprints dann auch mal in Farbe), und zu deren führenden Vertretern damals Colon Dexter zählte, mit seinen Inspektor Morse-Romanen. Der Ort: Oxford und Umgebung. Als ich vor Woche Simon Masons „Mord im November“ entdeckte, gab es kein Halten mehr, und einmal mehr tauchte ich in das alte, neue Oxford ein, das uns in der Regel bekannt ist, etwa aus ruhig inszenierten, aber auch fesselnden Verflilmungen mit dem alten, aber auch dem jungen Inspektor Morse.

Simon Mason hat ein spannendes Ermittlerduo eingeführt mit den „chalk-and-cheese cops“ DI Ryan und DI Ray Wilkins, die keineswegs miteinander verwandt sind und aus fast absurd gegensätzlichen Lebenswelten stammen. Der Glücksfall ist, dass Simon Mason grossartig schreibt, das Erbe von Colin Dexter in ein heutiges Oxford transportiert – hervorragend geplottet, humorvoll, und dunkel über alle Seitenränder hinaus. Die ersten beiden Romane (von mittlerweile fünfen) liegen in gelungener Übersetzung vor, und ich bin gerade mittendrin im dritten, „Lost And Never Found“. Ein umwerfender Sprachfluss ist diesen Romanen zueigen, in die Tiefe gehende Geschichten, allerbester Stoff zum Versinken!

Jetzt, der Hitze entkommen, liest sich das alles noch rasanter, die ersten Cafés öffnen, einen „morning swim“ habe ich schon hinter mir, es dauert seit meiner Kindheit immer um die eine Minute, bis mir im Meer warm wird. Die Wellen helfen! Ein Strandkorb ist angemietet. Der Geruch von Sonnenmilch versprüht einen Zauber wie eh und je. Mit dem E-Bike fahre ich die alten Runden, durch den Wald, „Waldbaden“ inclusive , zum Fährhafen mit seiner Fischstube am Deich entlang, und auch mal wieder vorbei an dem Hotel, in dem ich mich einst mit sieben Jahren in die Hotelmanagerin verknallte, „Haus Westfalen“ hiess es damals, in der Zeit, als Hoppy Kurrat noch für den BVB kickte, und die gebundene Ochsenschanzsuppe ein Klassiker war auf kurzen Überfahrten. Ein Hauch von Wehmut mischt sich in jeden Taumel kleiner Glücksschübe.

„Wir holten Docs Outfit von Neil Young, dem der Siebziger, diese Muttonchops, der buschige Backenbart, und einige der Kleidungsstücke sind direkt von ihm geklaut. Ich denke, man kann keinen Film über diese Zeit und diese Kultur machen, ohne direkt auf Neil Young zu gucken.“ (Paul Thomas Anderson)

Erst jetzt, nach mehr als zehn Jahren, sah ich „Inherent Vice“ zum ersten Mal, Paul Thomas Andersons Verfilmung von Thomas Pynchons Roman gleichen Namens. 2014 bekam er ein bunt gemischtes Echo, und ich geselle mich nun, nachdem ich eine Nacht drüber geschlafen habe, nach nur leichtem Zögern, auf die Seite seiner Fans. Manche seiner Filme lagen mir mehr als andere, und seine Zeitreise in die frühen 1970er Jahre nach Hippie-California ist ein zweieinhalbstündiger Trip, in dem mich ein paar Sachen besonders gefesselt haben. Etwa die Art, wie er, abseits des Soundtracks von Johnny Greenwood, Lieder aus jener alten Zeit mit dem herrlich zerfaserten Plot kurzschliesst. Da kann ich mich gut reinfallen lassen, wenn auf einmal Cans grösster Hit aus „Ege Bamyasi“ den Ton angibt, oder zwei Lieder von Neil Young den Soundtrack einer alten Liebe des dauerbekifften Doc Sportello befeuern. Es ist der vielfach gebrochene Mythos vom Detektiv mit dem reinen Herzen, weicher, mit einem fragileren Ich ausgestattet als die Sam Spades und Philip Marlowes des alten Hollywood, von eine aberwitzigen Situation in die nächste gerät, und stets haarscharf am kompletten Desaster vorbeischrammt. Von Anfang wurde ich das Gefühl nicht los, dass Doc Sportello seiner Lang-Verflossenen hinterhertrauert. Und dass da irgendwann im Laufe des Filmes was passieren muss, das ihn von diesem Trauma erlöst. Ja, Freunde des psychedelischen Kinos, und dann passiert genau das, die gute alte Tante „Katharsis“ betritt den Raum, und unser „private eye“ traut einmal mehr seinen Augen nicht: „sexual healing“!

Nicht nur Doc Sportello wähnte sich kurz vor Ende des Films in einer Zeitmaschine, auch der Verfasser diesr Zeilen sass in einer solchen und nahm unterwegs folgende Seelennahrung zu sich, an einem langen Wochenende: Tale Spinnin‘, ein unterschätztes Album von Weather Report in Surround, „Spring Hill Fair“ von den Go-Betweens, einmal mehr „Dume“ von Neil Young (die Neufassung von „Zuma“ als Doppelalbum), und „Original Soundtracks 1“ von den Passengers: bei dieser Scheibe weiss man auch nicht so recht, ob man in einem neu vertonten Antonioni-Film sitzt oder in einem abgedrehten Science Fiction-Movie. Und, kein Witz, ich hörte mir das nieendenwollende Stück „magnificent seventies“ vom American Analog Set an! Das alles übrigens ohne Dope!

„Dressed in a white shirt with my hair combed straight
Here in my black shoes and me without a date
Me without hindsight, me without
When will change come, just like spring rain“

As someone who lived on Lovers Lane, 16 from start on, the summer of 1981 and 1982 in the Northern area of the Bavarian Wood, not so far away from the town where Robert found the love of his life, as someone who bought a single of the GoBe‘s in the Rough Trade record shop in Notting Hill, besides a single from Aztec Camera, in December 1982, well, well, they become lifers, life‘s company, all of these records. Two killer songs on their raw, punky, garage rock of their debut album were enough to know, this band would stay with me. „16, Lovers Lane“ got a bad review in Spex“, the German rock magazine who celebrated them from earl years on, but they were wrong – be careful with experts! Activating my critical eye, here is my highly sober rating of them all:

Send Me A Lullaby (1981) – ***
Before Hollywood (1983) – ****
Spring Hill Fair (1984) – *****
Liberty Belle and The Black Diamond Express (1985) – *****
Tallulah (1987) – ***
16, Lovers Lane (1988) – *****
The Friends Of Rachel Worth (2000) – ***1/2
Bright Yellow, Bright Orange (2003) – ****
Ocean‘s Apart (2005) – ****1/2


Thomas Pannhorsts Liste:

Send Me A Lullaby (1981) – ***
Before Hollywood (1983) – ****
Spring Hill Fair (1984) – *****
Liberty Belle and The Black Diamond Express (1985) – ****1/2
Tallulah (1987) – ***
16, Lovers Lane (1988) – *****
The Friends Of Rachel Worth (2000) – ***1/2
Bright Yellow, Bright Orange (2003) – ****
Ocean‘s Apart (2005) – *****

Seit den frühen 1980er Jahren begegnet mir immer wieder der Name Mat Snow. Ein Musikjournalist meiner Generation, und wir waren uns bei vielen Alben absolut einig. Unvergesslich, sein persönlicher Zugang zur Musik, der nie die musikhistorische Absicherung im Visier hatte. Danmals, 1983, kannte kaum jemand The Go-Betweens, als er für den NME das zweite Werk des Trios aus Brisbane besprach.

„From The sleeve‘s studious allusion to Dylan‘s 1965 covers to the final dedication „to our parents“, this record looks back to the past – childhood, lost love, and lost Utopias. These are fragile feelings, hard to express, but The Go-Betweens fly straight to the heart with passion and intelligence. „Before Hollywood“ contains some of the most beautiful music I‘ve ever heard.“

There it was, the last sentence of Mike Gates‘ five star review of Steve Swallow‘s „Winter Songs“: „Warm and inviting, it feels like a proper old-school contemporary jazz session of the very best kind.“ The phrase „old-school“ creates a problem. I am not too interested in an old-school jazz session. And Steve Swallow transcends this category with „Winter Songs“. As immaculate as it is, as melodic and as far away from any upheaval (on the surface), the whole album with all its short pieces is the best album he‘s ever made as a bandleader.

This is a strangely adventurous, whimsically courageous, deeply honest album in which only the surface structure makes you think of „old school“, nostalgia, good friends drinking tea and having a good time. True that is, but beneath these known formula there‘s hiding a love of life, a melancholia, something blue and velvet and blue velvet. What an album! All these bitter-sweet in-betweens! Another lifer! In the same way, „Belladonna Nocturne“ is not just simply „old school ambient music“. In spite of life’s backward glance and all that. As Wyndham Wallace writes:

„With broader horizons than 2022’s intimate Player, Piano, Lanois’ ninth solo album is envisaged as an inevitably darker successor to 2005’s similarly instrumental Belladonna. He’s still worldbuilding, his affectingly lush, resonant production wonderfully showcased amid “Steel Mill”’s textured minimalism and the quietly spectral “Marionette”, both distant, jazz-affiliated cousins of Angelo Badalamenti’s Twin Peaks score. But he’s more experimental, with “Canadian National”’s felted piano gently unpredictable and “Warp Sustain” pitching layers of treated guitar and pedal steel against one another. If “Snow Lake” and “Early Days” sound Eno-esque, that’s indicative of Lanois’ role on Apollo.“

„Meiburg’s interest in the natural world has often seen Shearwater bracketed with a generation of indie-folk musicians drawing on nature and tradition to invest their music with a sort of hand-me-down authenticity. But Shearwater’s music is frequently both smarter and deeper than that of his peers. There is arguably no modern musician working today who has better assimilated the approach Talk Talk’s Mark Hollis took on his masterworks Spirit Of Eden and Laughing Stock: a richly orchestrated art music assembled in a way that feels simultaneously intimate in sentiment and gigantic in scope.“ (Louis Pattison, Uncut, August 2026)

The first person I ever heard the word „a lifer“ from, was Braveheart Ian McCartney, who spoke or better wrote about it in regards to a handful albums that became life‘s company or worth living a life with. A matter of the heart. Did he even mention it when Lajla an i met him for dinner in Glasgow in early 2016? It rang a bell, but why did i never stumble upon this word in album reviews, apart from the glory days of Manafonistas and the later years of Flowworker? Ian called Harold Budd‘s and Brian Eno‘s „The Plateaux Of Mirror“ „a lifer“, for example. He could listen to it endlessly, and, in fact, he returned to that album again and again. And to its successor, „The Pearl“. Same, but different. I agreed wholeheartedly with his passion for these albums and adopted the term. See my post from some days ago: „Five Lifers“. Nearly everybody is using it from our little group. Here comes another „lifer“:

Speaking along with Jan Bang on encounters between Moroccon / North African traditions and sax players it is not far-fetched to think of another „killer album“ or should I say „lifer“„The Trance of Seven Colors“ by Mahmoud Ghania’s ensemble feat. Pharoah Sanders (produced by Bill Laswell, and recorded in 1994 in Essauouira (!)), or, in its spiritual neighborhood, Jan Garbarek‘s album with Tunesian oud master Anouar Brahem „Madar“, an album that became „a lifer“ for me since its ECM vinyl reissue. The album has everything Robert Wyatt is speking about „the breathing thing“ that music has to emulate, if it‘s striving to surivive season and style.

Ian McCartney hat mit „A Lifer“ eine neue Bedeutung und Konnotation geschaffen, so seltsam einleuchtend, dass wir sie hier all übenommen haben. im allgemeinen Sprachgebrauch bezeichnet ein „lifer“ meist eine Person, die zu lebenslanger Haft verurteilt wurde, und, je nach Kontext, können andere semantische Ebenen mitschwingen: ein „lifer“ ist der erste Vogel einer bestimmten Art, den ein Beobachter in seinem Leben jemals in freier Wildbahn gesehen hat. In den USA wird ein lebenslanger Berufssoldat gerne „a lifer“ genannt. Gelegentlich wird der Ausdruck scherzhaft für Personen verwendet, die sich überdurchschnittlich stark in ein Thema, ein Spiel, oder eine Subkultur vertiefen, also auf Personen, die einen Narren an etwas gefressen haben. Aber eine Langspielplatte, der man sich absolut verschrieben hat, „a lifer“ zu nennen, hat es vor Ians Eingebung des Augenblicks schlichtweg nie gegeben. Eine dezente Verschiebung, ein sprachlicher side-step.

Coming back to „Madar“. When it was released in 1994, i Iiked it from start on, but i think I made the mistake to never play it loud. Now, when only slightly turning up the volume, you realize the extreme dynamics of the Oslo recording session: some passages are so quiet you can hear the famous needles fall, the grass grow, the horizon sigh (overtly poetic, but i want to light your fire, too) – other passages are making your walls tumble, your belly shake, all the while the sound is crystal clear. An immaculate digital, yes, digital, high end production that is on par with three musicians, a tone engineer, and a producer „at the peak of their powers“, to use a more frequently used phrase. What else can I say. It‘s a lifer! There‘s a jukebox in heaven that plays that stuff all night long.

More unusual combinations: ancient and modern trance music.

Mattias de Craene, a Belgian born saxophonist and composer got in contact in 2025 asking if I would be interested in mixing his new album. I had seen a concert of his in Ghent a year earlier and liked what I saw. There was a mystic around his stage persona: an obvious talented musician who had been part of a successful Belgian group now seeking to explore new territory. Being drawn by the Gnawa tradition he decided to travel to Marocco experiencing the country and the music and hopefully returning with field recordings on his portable player to add more colors.

Brussels has the largest Gnawa community outside of Marocco. Upon his return Mattias decided to record with the Belgian Gnawa musicians of Black Koyo. A quartet let by master Hicham Bilali on guembri and vocals, and three call/response singers who is also responsible for clapping and plays the qraqueb – heavy iron castanets shaped like a double spoon for lack of a better description.

Apparently Mattias de Craene had witnessed a performance of mine at Nattjazz in Bergen a year before. Inspired by the Nattjazz concert, he started planning his new adventure, this time with me onboard for the planning process. We had a few zoom meetings before Mattias started recording with Black Koyo. Months went by before our next meeting. This time with complete recordings of all the pieces along with the field recordings from Marocco. When Mattias did ask for my possible involvement in a concert in Mechelen, Belgium I didn´t hesitate to accept his kind invitation. 

Being a live samplist (yes, a new word) new collaborations are welcoming. I always say to myself I should do this more often. Fresh sounds create new possibilities. Already during the soundcheck I realized that this unusual combination could prove interesting results. Excited by the concert that was attended by a large group of international jazz promoters especially invited by the Belgian jazz association, I returned to the Punkt studio with enough material for an album. 

Mathias who in addition to being a saxophonist, plays all the keyboards parts and the treated sax loops on the album, wanted Black Koyo´s voices to sound like wild horses, not tamed by studio perfection. I brought to the up-front some of the recorded sounds that possibly had been intended to be more oblique. 

I had some previous experience with the Gnawa tradition. Years before Jon Hassell and I did a concert in Grenoble with Diwan de Biskra, a group of Algerian Gnawa players brought together by guitarist Camel Zekri. The group included guembri, darbouka, graqueb and rhaita – the latter a double reed instrument you will find in Tunis, Marocco, Libya and in the wonderful traditions of Mauritania. The double reed player being so blaring that Jon Hassell suggested to have him playing from behind stage to blend better with the soft sounds from Jon´s trumpet. The concept of near/far was important to Hassell. The goal was always getting into the zone that reminded him of sitting around the campfire. You can see clips from that concert here.

While the A-side of the Mattias de Craene & Black Koyo album is more up tempo, the B-side has a slightly different feeling: a quieter and dream like assembly of different soundscapes, of chants that gives a sense of a physical place. A Bridge of Dust and Air is a collage of textures, abrupt digital noise as If captured from a signal station: Background chants, almost whispering voices and distant singing; field recordings from Mattias´ visits in Marocco that includes the sound of waves, sounds from the minaret, bird calls and children playing.

A project like this has many layers: the traditional music inherited from generations of players that has been developing through migration and in meetings with other traditions; Mattias de Craene´s search for a spirituality in music; New technology and ancient traditions. Neither jazz nor world music, but an assembly of what resonates within himself.

Once after a concert we played with Hamid Drake, I shared transport from the venue to the hotel with the Master Musicians of Jajouka. Their leader, Bachir Attar told me he inherited the ensemble from his father who in 1968 was approached by Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones. According to Bachir, Jones was so excited by the collaboration with the Jajoukas´, that he had initiated a new souper group consisting of Jimi Hendrix, John Lennon and the Master Musicians of Jajouka. Not long after Brian Jones was found dead at the bottom of his swimming pool in Essex. The coroner´s conclusion was death caused by drug and alcohol abuse. Needless to say, the group never saw the light of day.

Fatcha, another of the more intimate pieces is the Muslim call to a prayer, an “adhan”. The beautiful bells and Maroccan bird song blended with the chants as if coming from the back of the room. The distinct voice of Hicham Bilali. This time nearer the listener, but even more intimate than on A Bridge of Dust and Air. During the mixing process I vizualized the pieces as a set of rituals coming from different physical spaces in the port city of Essaouira, Marocco where in 1952, Orson Welles shot the film adaption of Othello.

Mouelay Abdelah Chrif is from the live recording we did together in Mechelen. I like the way the tempo is falling when the qraqueb joins the clapping. It clicks without an effort. The final track Moula Komi has a certain overall calm while at the same time it is rather busy. Matthias treatments of his saxophone and the call and response by the singers, this time not up-close, but inside of the mix. Unusual combinations, ancient and modern trance music. 

Moula komi , the albums final piece where Master Hicham Bilali plays the Guimbri and the distant dub-vocals alongside Mattias´electronics and treated reeds. This time with the Guimbri near and everything else far, far away.  I love the way this piece comes together like in a dream state. Unlike Mattias de Crane, I never went to the city of Essaouira. On the other hand, Jon Hassell never went to Malaya. Les Baxter travelled to Mexico to collect century old manuscripts and listened to the traditional musicians during carnival season. However, most of Baxter´s music was made up dreams of far away places. Dreams produce interesting results. – Jan Bang, June 16