Brian Enos Story von „Fractal Zoom“
„Was „Fractal Zoom“ betrifft, experimentierte ich damals mit etwas, das ich „unwillkommenen Jazz“ nannte. Da gab es eine gewisse Dissonanz und Schärfe, die mir gefiel. Gleichzeitig wollte ich aber dieses – zumindest für mich – große Experiment wagen, eine Art von Musik zu schaffen, die die Freiheit und die Dissonanz besitzt, die man manchmal im Jazz findet. Und dennoch etwas Liedhaftes an sich hat. „Fractal Zoom“ begann mit einer Aufnahmesession, die ich in Los Angeles mit dem großartigen Schlagzeuger Sugarfoot Moffett machte.
Er wurde wegen seiner Bassdrum-Technik „Sugarfoot“ genannt. Er konnte sehr, sehr gut mit der Kick-Drum umgehen. Er tauchte bei der Session auf. Ich erinnere mich, wie er in einem roten Cabrio auf den Parkplatz fuhr, auf dessen Rücksitz nur drei Snare-Drums lagen. Sonst nichts. Ich hatte den Rest des Schlagzeugs gemietet, aber er wollte seine eigenen Snare-Drums mitbringen. Jedenfalls nahmen wir ein paar Improvisationen auf, und eine davon wurde zur Grundlage für „Fractal Zoom“.
Ich habe die Bänder mit nach England genommen und dort weiter daran gearbeitet. Dabei habe ich diese großartige Zutat namens „Robert Fripp“ hinzugefügt, der für diesen Titel auf ganz besondere Weise Gitarre gespielt hat. Er nannte es „Pin Trumpet“. Das ist dieser sehr, sehr dünne, durchdringende Klang, den man in dem Stück hört. Ich glaube, die Gitarre wurde elektronisch irgendwie um eine Oktave erhöht. Aber ich hatte immer noch keinen Song. Und ich wollte etwas, das lyrisch und süß und sehnsüchtig und fast schon ängstlich über diesem Groove lag.
Der Groove war, glaube ich, wirklich mehr als alles andere vom Spiel von Jaki Liebezeit geprägt. Ich wollte einen dieser unaufhörlichen, kraftvollen Grooves, wie er sie hinbekam. Und natürlich war der andere Schlagzeuger, der mich sehr beeinflusst hat, Klaus Dinger, den ich zum ersten Mal bei Neu gehört hatte. Es ist dieses Schlagzeugspiel von Sugarfoot Moffett, das diesen Track wirklich untermauert. Ich hörte mir den Song jetzt wieder an – etwas, das ich schon seit geraumer Zeit nicht mehr getan habe, da ich meine älteren Werke nicht so oft höre. Und er gefällt er mir wirklich gut. Ich bin überrascht und es ist mir ein bisschen peinlich, das zu sagen.
Aber diese Wolke aus Gesang und Instrumenten, die etwa zwei Minuten nach Beginn unerwartet auftaucht, hat etwas Wunderschönes an sich. Und ich denke, man kann es eigentlich als eine Art Fusion-Musik bezeichnen. Ein Versuch, einige Stilelemente miteinander zu verbinden, die normalerweise nicht zusammen vorkommen. Etwas zu schaffen, das sowohl rau und ziemlich aggressiv ist als auch etwas, das fast schon ekstatisch wirkt.
A Sonic Fever Dream: 25 Years of Drawn from Life by Brian Eno and J.Peter Schwalm – by Markus Reuter
Sometimes the memory of when and how a certain album found its way
into your life begins to blur. In the case of Drawn from Life by Brian
Eno and J. Peter Schwalm, I no longer recall the exact circumstances
under which I acquired the record back then. Of one thing, however, I
am certain: I had long been a great admirer of Eno’s work, from albums
like Nerve Net and The Shutov Assembly all the way to the later
release Another Day on Earth. Yet Drawn from Life holds an absolute
special status for me. Not only is it my favorite work in Brian Eno’s
extensive catalog, it also ranks among my personal top ten albums of
all time. Quite simply, it is the perfect music for conjuring a truly
magical mood.
Now, in 2026, exactly a quarter of a century after its initial release
in 2001, this masterpiece is finally receiving a reissue, complete
with new artwork. Admittedly, I was very fond of the original cover,
even if a few of my graphic designer friends found it downright awful
for reasons that completely escape me. To my mind, the visual and
acoustic package fit together seamlessly right from the start.
A Seamless Fever Dream
What makes this album so extraordinary is its specific, almost
weightless character. It is most aptly described as a musical fever
dream: a state in which you lose all temporal and spatial orientation,
no longer able to tell where you are, where it begins, or where it
ends. The entire work feels deeply conceptual and cut from a single
cloth.
With music this process-oriented, it is often nearly impossible in
retrospect to assign exact compositional credit. Who actually did what
here? Because the creation of such pieces thrives on countless small
steps, happy accidents, and extensive post-production, traditional
notions of authorship dissolve. Nevertheless, it is obvious that this
album is not merely an Eno solo statement, but a genuine, equal
artistic symbiosis with J. Peter Schwalm.
From my own practice with this kind of music, and not least through my
collaboration with Peter on our joint album Aufbruch, I am intimately
familiar with his working methods and can tangibly feel how immense
his contribution is here. In every second, you can hear the extreme
meticulousness with which he shaped the arrangement and sonic
aesthetic: how he repeatedly pieced together countless fragments,
dynamically mixed them, discarded them, and layered them anew. His
perspective is aimed entirely at atmosphere and density, emancipating
itself completely from traditional musical parameters. On this purely
sound-painting level, Eno and Schwalm found true kindred spirits in
one another. Incidentally, for anyone wishing to dive deeper into
Peter’s sonic cosmos, I wholeheartedly recommend his deeply rewarding
work with trumpeter Arve Henriksen.
Sonic Architecture, Dub, and Harmonic Friction
The entire production is defined by a striking sense of space. This
applies not only to its immense depth of field, but also to the
razor-sharp stereo image, in which even the most delicate detail
occupies its precisely defined place. A distinct dub aesthetic comes
into play here: spaces themselves become instruments, sounds emerge
out of nowhere and dissipate into endless reverb tails, supported by
exquisitely tasteful filter effects that allow the frequency spectrum
to breathe organically.
Woven into this spatial tapestry are electric pianos and acoustic
piano, contrasted by the dramatic, almost cinematic use of orchestral
percussion, including timpani.
In isolated moments, augmented and diminished intervals, or sharp and
flat intervals, rub against one another in a floating mixture across
different degrees of the scale. Despite this carefully dosed harmonic
friction, the music glides along completely effortlessly.
Between the Organic and the Artificial: Details in the Soundstage
The album’s special emotional warmth comes from the delicate interplay
of the featured guest musicians and the seamless fusion of organic and
artificial sounds. On violin and viola, Nell Catchpole delivers
wonderful string passages that, while heavily processed
electronically, contribute essentially to the underlying mood and
melodic framing. Leo Abrahams contributes his characteristically
subtle, delicate guitar textures, while Laurie Anderson lends her
unmistakable spoken-word voice to “Like Pictures Part 2.”
On the track “Two Voices,” in turn, we hear Brian Eno’s own voice
processed through one of his signature vocoder effects. In this track
in particular, the organic and the artificial form a fascinating
union. In “Two Voices,” I even believe I can pick out the very
specific sounds of a digital Roland guitar synthesizer. These are the
exact same timbres that are also present on the later 2004 Fripp/Eno
album The Equatorial Stars. This soundstage is complemented by unusual
textures such as Holger Czukay’s dictaphone recordings, percussion by
Heiko Himmighoffen, and the children’s voices of Eno’s daughters,
Darla and Irial, on the track “Bloom.”
“Bloom,” in particular, pushes the album’s trance-like quality to its
peak with its hypnotic shuffle groove. Interestingly, the album is
also threaded with deeply aesthetic bass motifs that sound strikingly
like an organically played bass guitar, though no explicit credit for
them can be found anywhere in the liner notes.
Musical Kinships: From Erik Satie via Klaus Schulze to Hector Zazou
When you trace the contours of this album more deeply, lines of
connection to other great sonic architects immediately open up in the
mind. On the one hand, there are the wonderful works of Hector Zazou,
whom I also hold in high regard and who often built a similar bridge
between organic instruments, human voices, and electronic poetry. And,
of course, a direct line leads back to Erik Satie, the true forefather
of ambient music.
Upon recent, intensive re-listening, however, another unexpected
parallel dawned on me: a remarkably similar atmospheric density exists
on a much older work, namely Klaus Schulze’s 1978 masterpiece X. On X,
one finds those monumental pieces featuring a string orchestra, analog
synthesizers, and the live drumming of Harald Großkopf, particularly
his distinctive tom-toms drenched in deep reverb. Although Drawn from
Life was not released until 2001, it unmistakably breathes the spirit
of the 1970s through this exact combination of orchestral textures,
deep percussion sounds, and electronic vastness. To anyone who loves
Drawn from Life, I warmly recommend Schulze’s X.
For me, Drawn from Life remains a timeless sonic mystery. A truly
wonderful album that, even after a quarter of a century, has lost
absolutely none of its original magic.Lentas Dreaming (take 2)
I’m driving through the south and west of Crete, up into the mountains and back down again, to deserted beaches and others where Greek pop music plays in the tavernas. But day after day, in my hire car, alongside the charm of Greek B-side songs, Brian and Peter’s *Drawn From Life* plays on a loop: ‘Crete Endless’.
Right now, I’m sitting in Lentas at Angela’s Café, reading the fascinating review by the musician and composer Markus Reuter, which he wrote for ‘flowworker’ (this short essay will also appear on his ‘Substack channel’ shortly).
With this text – and my own double interview with Brian and Peter, now 25 years old, at the back of my mind – what fresh words could I possibly add to an album that is a ‘dream’ for Markus and me, a ‘journey’, and inexhaustible… perhaps a collection of fragmented asides à la ‘50 Ways To Dance On DRAWN FROM LIFE’?! (m.e.)
„Eine andere blaue Welt“ – Brian Eno und Peter J. Schwalm im Gespräch (2001)
At one point of our conversation, Brian asked me: „Do you know where „Drawn From Life“ really came from?“ I raised my eyebrows, then he told it. (Michael, 2001)
„Revisting Drawn From Life is something of a revelation.“ (Leah Kardos, The Wire, November 2026)
Das ganze Interview aus der alten Jazzthetik vom Mai 2001 kann in der Form einer „Papierschnitzel-Story“ gelesen werden, und zwar HIER! Einen Preis für Formschönheit ist dabei nicht zu gewinnen, aber dafür ein interessanter Einblick in das Opus „Drawn From Life“ von Brian Eno und Peter J Schwalm aus dem Jahre 2001, das am 16. Oktober in allen Formaten als LP, CD, und DL neu erhältlich ist! In der Kolumne „Talk“ der „monthly revelations“ findet sich mein Interview mit Brian über „Another Day On Earth“ aus dem Jahre 2005.
In other words: The entire interview from the old issue of Jazztethik from May 2001 can now be read as a “scrapbook story”— just click on that one word in bold letters in the German text! It may not win any awards for aesthetic appeal, but it does offer an interesting insight into the 2001 album “Drawn From Life” by Brian Eno and Peter J Schwalm, which will be re-released on October 16 in all formats—LP, CD, and digital download!
Michael’s final radio hour
Deutschlandfunk, September 24
Listen to „Klanghorizonte“
Playlist of „Klanghorizonte“ with a nearly seamless sequence, in regards to storytelling, dream logic, old and new interviews of mine, – and different horizons track by track… (words on „12 Conversations“ by Leah Kardos (The Wire)
FIRST HALF („Nocturnal Green“): Brian Eno: Music For Films (1978) / Robert Wyatt talking / Robert Wyatt: Cuckooland (2003) / Ryuichi Sakamoto & Alva Noto: 12 Conversations (2026) / Annette Peacock (from an old interview) / Annette Peacock: An Acrobat‘s Heart* (2000) / Daniel Lanois: Belladonna Nocturne (2026, 2 tracks) / Daniel Lanois talking in between / Lambchop: Punching The Clown (2026)
SECOND HALF (Red Sports Car in L.A.): Seefeel: Sol.Hz (2026) / Laurie Anderson talking / Laurie Anderson: Bright Red (1994)** / Jana Winderen: Spring Bloom at the Marginal Ice Zone (2017) / Jana Winderen (from an old interview, inside the music)*** / Brian Eno talking (the story of „Fractal Zoom“) / Brian Eno: Nerve Net (1992)
*“Unsung Heroine“ (short documentary)
**“We’d look out at the river, and if the music seemed to be naturally going with it, this was our editing device. Brian’s motto was: if it goes with the river, it goes on the record. So, for example, if the river was really choppy and active, and the music was going pah-bah-dah-dah – whoa, that looks so great! – or if it was smooth and there was some kind of ambient thing going on. We always tried to match – tried to feel – the naturalness of the river, and in this case the Hudson, and if it seemed to fit. It was a very infallible rule while recording „Bright Red“ in Manhattan, because it showed you when you were making it too difficult, not natural.“ (laurie anderson)
***Nearly everybody has a story to tell with „field recordings“, that will always trigger the knowledge about some of the most adventurous sounds being „out there“. Some of those albums became famous, some very much stayed under the radar (very much like the spaces they had been exploring). Even the so-called well-known can easily turn into stranger things. By chance, I once discovered an old album named „Trains in the Night“ beautifully capturing the sounds of old locomotives in England‘s vast hinterland, and the nature around. Listening to the compositions of artists like Jana Winderen or BJ Nilsen, is always a special experience. Is the howling of the wind real, or enhanced by electronics? How can someone „document“ sounds that cannot be be heard within our „normal“ range of perception? In a way the act of „cartographing“ distant areas includes sharpened senses, adequate tools – and inventiveness. When I was sinking, literally, into the „music“ of Jana‘s „arctic“ record, I couldn‘t help but remember, in moments passing by, old sci-fi movies and books, but from minute to minute I was more and more drawn into the sounds themselves and forgetting my sepia-tinged nostalgia. Where-am-I-music of a rare kind. Like all of the albums of this hour! (michael engelbrecht)
The story behind „Music For Films“
In jenem legendären, einsamen Sommer (oder war es schon Herbst), in dem „Music For Films“ erschien, lebte ich in einer leergeräumten Wohnung, in der die Schatten einer alten Liebe noch an der Wand tanzten. Allmonatlich kaufte ich die „Sounds“, die beste Musikzeitschrift der alten Bundesrepublik. Ich stöberte durch die jüngste Ausgabe, als mein Blick auf eine kleine Werbung der Firma Polydor fiel: „Der Mann im Hintergrund“, war da zu lesen, so flüstert es mir meine Erinnerung ein, ein monochromes graues Cover war abgebildet – Music for Films wurde mit kalkuliertem Understatement verkündet. Sofort bestellte ich die Platte bei einem meiner zwei Dealer, in Unterlüss. Der andere Postversand war Jazz by Post in der Gleichmannstrasse 10 in Pasing, von dort kamen mir über Jahre u. a. viele ECM-Neuheiten ins Haus, die Schatztruhe der 70er Jahre war weit geöffnet. Unterlüss war für die Rockmusik und ihre Ränder zuständig. Zwei, drei Tage später hielt ich Music for Films in Händen. Und hörte sie zum ersten Mal.
Ich habe diese Platte mit ihren flüchtigen und mich auf jede Flucht mitnehmenden Skizzen, ihren vollkommenen Unfertigkeiten, ihren Sehnsuchts- und Angst- und Traumstoffen seither unendlich oft gehört, bewusst, unbewusst, im Hintergrund, im Seitengrund, Im Vordergrund. Beim Wandern (mit Knopf im Ohr), beim Schreiben, beim Einschlafen, Wachwerden, in der Fremde. Und als Alternative für „die Zigarette danach“. Beim ersten Hören wusste ich damals schon, 1978, dass diese Musik lebensbegleitend sein würde. Sie wurde rasch auch eine Medizin, sie half mir, mit den nackten Schatten an der leeren Wand zu tanzen, statt sie zu verscheuchen.
Und als damals ein Riese mich aus dem Bett und meiner Wohnung im 7. Stock schleudern wollte, ich meinen Geist vergeblich mit Kakao zu beruhigen suchte, der Alptraum aber wiederkehrte, und ich mir einen heißen Grog machte mit dem guten alten Pott, mit dem Auto auf einen großen leeren Acker in der Nähe von Würzburg fuhr, dort den Sonnenaufgang erlebte und meine einzige tief anrührende Begegnung mit einer Kantate von Bach aus dem schräpigen Autoradio hatte, und hernach in die Alpdruckwohnung heimkehrte, legte ich Music for Films auf, und erlebte, wie sich die vollkommen irrationalen Glücksgefühle, die sich schon auf dem kühlen Morgenacker aufgetaucht waren, weiter ausbreiteten, und ich mich gar freute auf die nächste Begegnung mit dem Riesen.
(Wer ganz oben auf „The Story“ klickt, hört, was Brian Eno mir vor ein paar Jahren über „Music For Films“ erzählte, und wie eng die Musik mit den Aufnahmesessions von „Another Green World“ verknüpft war. Es ist ein Fakt, dass kein Album öfter in den Klanghorizonten von mir in all den Nächten zwischen 1990 und 2021 gespielt wurde als diese beiden. Es ist ein Fakt, dass ich in meinem Leben kein Album öfter gehört als diese beiden.)
„The passage of time
Is flicking dimly up on the screen
I can’t see the lines
I used to think i could read between
Perhaps my brains have turned to sand““Luminal“ & „Lateral“
„Lieben oder hassen?! Ich liebe die Musik von David Sylvian. Einige seiner Songs sind für mich zeitlose Klassiker. Mit Melanie Dalibert ist es allerdings ganz anders, die Musik überlebt bei mir keine Minuten. Wenn ich lese, was David Sylvian über seine Zusammenarbeit mit Melanie schreibt, ist meine Reaktion: Wieso höre ich das nicht? Bin ich zu sehr mit dem Virus Jazz infiziert, um von dieser Musik noch erreicht zu werden? Übrigens geht es mir mit Brian Eno und seiner Musik der letzten Jahre genauso. Dafür muss ich wohl im Seniorenheim leben.“ (radiohoerer henry)
Flowworker: ***** („Luminal“) & **** („Lateral“)Warum ich noch nicht über das Büchlein „What Art Does“ von Brian Eno und Bette A. geschrieben habe, ist rasch erzählt: ich bin allzu vertraut mit all den Gedanken über Kunst, Feelings, Surrender, Play, etc. die Brian in dieser „unfinished theory“ ausbreitet, nach seinem Anspruch so verständlich, dass es auch nicht auf den Kopf gefallene Teenager verstehen können, und herrlich bunt bebildert ist es zudem! Wäre ich Kunstlehrer, wäre das Stammlektüre in meinen Klassen. Ab und zu schmökere ich mit Vergnügen in dem Bändchen.
Viel lieber aber begegne ich der Kunst ohne Metaebene, lasse die Feelings durch mich hindurch strömen und rauschen, wenn ich „Luminal“ oder „Lateral“ auflege, Brian Enos famose neuen Alben mit Beatie Wolfe, und erlebe da, ungefiltert, Surrender, Play, etc., in allen Schattierungen zwischen dem Unerhörten und dem Unheimlichen, zwischen dem Fest und den Erschütterungen des Lebens. Denn all das dringt hier durch, und viel zu fesselnd, in diesen Wochen, um kluge Worte darüber verlieren zu wollen.
Das Erlebnis der Tiefe spielt sich stets im Zwischenraum von Sender und Empfänger ab, und hier, bei den elf Songs von „Luminal“ etwa, bringe ich es schlicht und ergreifend so auf den Punkt, dass mein mutmassliches Songalbum des Jahres 2025 mich so tief erwischt, berührt, umfängt, umgarnt, verführt, auf gut deutsch „haunted“, dass es seinen Platz findet neben meinen Songalben der letzten beiden Jahre von Beth Gibbons und P.J. Harvey. „Luminal“ ist ein Album, das Tore öffnet, tief taucht und, mich jedenfalls, auf seltsam diskrete Weise, mitreißt!
P.S. I never got an interview in the years of „virtual conversations“ (the artist in an empty room (no „Zoom“, no „phoner“) that was technically so perfect (the icing on the cake). And her answers: interesting from start to end and „to the point“! You can listen to her solo talk from Brian Eno’s studio in Notting Hill until the end of September HERE!
The penultimate playlist of KLANGHORIZONTE at Deutschlandfunk, May 29
In regards to „Luminal“, surely one the most beautiful, haunting and seductive song albums of 2025, there is only one reason I don‘t come up with the minor quibble that Brian Eno isn‘t doing the lead vocals, and that is the voice of Beatie Wolfe! (Michael Engelbrecht, Deutschlandfunk, Klanghorizonte, May 29th, 2025)
Sequence matters. The first three albums all circling around a world disintegrating, in danger of falling apart. On his best album ever, William Tyler keeps an ear on remains of beauty. The last three albums deal with the heritage of Don Cherry. Thanks to Richard Williams reminding me of Mr. Cherry’s buried treasure. Two „far out fusion“-albums from the first half of the 70‘s are framing the central „Brian-and-Beatie“-passage of „dream and space music“. (By the way, Beatie Wolfe has written the lyrics and sings on „Luminal“, and she has a way with words, believe me! Brian Eno does the background vocals on every song. In addition, both play all kinds of instruments.) That it will finally happen this way, depends on three interviews (in preparation). I hope it will be time enough left for the „surprise track“ that stands apart of all topics mentioned above!
01 William Tyler: Time Indefinite
02 Eiko Isibashi: Antigone
03 Bennie Maupin: The Jewel In The Lotus (1974)
04 Beatie Wolfe & Brian Eno: Breath March, from: Luminal
05 Beatie Wolfe & Brian Eno: Lateral (excerpt)
06 Beatie Wolfe & Brian Eno: Play On, from: Luminal
07 Don Cherry: The Relativity Suite (1971)*
08 Angel Bat Dawid & Naima Nefertari: Journey to Nabta Playa
09 Natural Information Society and Bitchin Bajas: Totality10 Coda: Surprise Track
* „Wherever, whenever and by whomsoever the idea of “world music” was invented, it had no finer exponent, explorer and exemplar than Don Cherry. In a few months’ time it will be 30 years since Cherry died in Malaga of liver cancer, aged 58, leaving a world in which he was, to quote Steve Lake’s happy phrase, “a trumpet-playing lyric poet of the open road, whose very life was a free-flowing improvisation.” I suppose it was fitting that he should have died in Andalucia, a region where many cultural influences met in the Middle Ages to create a foundation of song.“ (Richard Williams, The Blue Moment)
More songs about space flights and bus rides (echoes on Eno‘s second lecture)
Music For Airports 2/1
Apollo: Deep Blue Day
My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts: Moonlight In Glory
Cale / Eno: Cordoba
„The Elderly Brothers“: Cerulean BlueI know the stories how Discreet Music and Music for Airports grew out of special experiences of Brian, in the studio experimenting with tape speed and synchronisation – and on a freshly built airport on Cologne. By the way, I never stooped returbing to these two albums. But the big fun of the second lecture was what I didn‘t know. Here are some of these moments including some aspects of the song CORDOBA. Please listen to this one before continuing reading. What kinds of feelings you have when listening to Cordoba? This photo was taken at Bundeskunsthalle, Bonn, August 1998, during my public talk with Brian. As you see, we sat quite relaxed there: this was the part with long drinks under an umbrella, and sharing our thoughts on some pieces we had brought along. Brian started with The Supremes.
- One morning Brian was sitting in that new airport KÖLN / BONN the father of Florian from Kraftwerk once had built. Everything was impressive, the newness of every single element, the sunlight floating the spaces. But that German disco music?! In that space Brian found it slightly unnerving. He went to the bar, and asking for the music, someone told him something like this: „Oh, das ist unser Hans. Der bringt uns seine Kassetten von zuhause mit und dreht auf.“ Maybe, without Hans and his tape of German Disco Music (whatever that exactly was), Brian might never have composed Music For Airports. Sitting there, slightly impressed at first, then slightly bored by the music, he though about what kind od sounds he would want to listen to on airports. Music that should you make care less about your ego, your fears…. Thank you, Hans!
- The time of John and Brian working on the album „Wrong Way Up“ was not easy. The thing with the lyrics, not easy, too. In a corner of the studio Brian read a book titled something like „Learning Spanish in 30 Days“. He found a list of phrases. They started to combine the phrases. Small changes. Repetitions. I always liked the song (as I liked the while album), for me the song with Cale‘s softly sung/spoken sentences had quite a dreamy atmosphere. Listen to it again, dear reader…. Now with the lyrics in comment 3. And afterwards, taken from the lyric pages of Tom Boon‘s Eno web, a bit of background of the song that fits very well to what Brian told yesterday (comment 4).
- Brian shows how Deep Blue Day from Apollo grew from an improvisation on an omnichord. It finally got its special magic by slowing down the original tempo.
- Though the homework is connected to the Cordoba piece and some other backgrounds, the lecture focussed on the stories behind some ambient classics. Of course Brian tried to find ways to find a fusion songs and ambient music: the most radical examples for a melange between these two worlds, are the albums THE SHIP and FOREVERANDEVERNOMORE. In facts, ANOTHER GREEN WORLD, released on November, 14, 1974, was, with its many instrumental pieces, the first attempt to combine, intertwine both of these „worlds“.
- There is no replacement for listening. After the letcure, I am now in the mood to put on „Wrong Way Up“. Many years after the release of „Wrong Way Up“, Pitchfork publishes a long essay on the album that is worth reading: HERE.
- My second interview with Brian (published in Jazzthetik in 1990) was (one half) about some of the songs. Here some things he said on the song „Empty Frame“ that ring a bell in regards to Brian‘s recurring thoughts about surrender: „So, all of those images of power beyond your own conciousness, beyond your own will, and of separation, are to do with the sea image for me. The other thing that’s in there, is about a little ship that is always falling apart, that they always are trying to fix up again. It says in there „the broken sails“. This is also a very poignant image to me of the notion of people constantly trying to repair their sails. What do you have a sail for? To catch wind, to catch the other forces that are around, the controllable forces. The wind is the force that you can do something about. The sea is not, you know. But of course, the wind also keeps breaking your sails, so you always have to sow them back together again. It’s an endless struggle to try to keep going in any kind of a line. Because the other implication in this kind of song is „Why don’t you surrender? Why don’t you surrender to the tide and see where you go?“ And in one of my old songs „Julie with…“, that’s what happened in that song, the people have surrendered. They’ve stopped, they’ve stopped rowing the boat and they suddenly have allowed themselves to become completely, not victims exactly, but to have fallen under the control of this powerful force.“
- Time maybe to listen to that „blue piece“ of „The Elderly Brothers“ on the tracklist.
- One morning Brian was sitting in that new airport KÖLN / BONN the father of Florian from Kraftwerk once had built. Everything was impressive, the newness of every single element, the sunlight floating the spaces. But that German disco music?! In that space Brian found it slightly unnerving. He went to the bar, and asking for the music, someone told him something like this: „Oh, das ist unser Hans. Der bringt uns seine Kassetten von zuhause mit und dreht auf.“ Maybe, without Hans and his tape of German Disco Music (whatever that exactly was), Brian might never have composed Music For Airports. Sitting there, slightly impressed at first, then slightly bored by the music, he though about what kind od sounds he would want to listen to on airports. Music that should you make care less about your ego, your fears…. Thank you, Hans!
Creating a song in a lucid dream
It happened in Berlin, years and years ago. 2017, I think. It was one of my most thrilling lucid dreams ever. Because of its final minutes in which i heard a brand new Brian Eno song, sung by Brian himself. Vintage Eno. This is no sci-fi story. If you do your little exercises, you can learn to realize during a dream that you are dreaming. You have to be highly motivated, too, then it will happen, sooner or later. It is a creative tool with a broad field of possibilities. It is NOT dangerous. It is NOT a drug-related experience. It is a gift of the creative mind, the unconscious. I learned all this in 1982 when reading a book by Prof. Paul Tholey. He was the pionieer of lucid dreaming in Germany. I met this handsome guy some years later when I led a lucid dream group.
This is for Brian Eno‘s webinar on songs. Or just for the back of his mind. I never told him about this before. But he will very well remember we once sat in park near his London house quite early in the 90‘s („The Shutov Assembly“ was slowly growing), and I told him about the scientific research on lucid dreaming. The basics. His old friend Jon Hassell once opened a gate to this territory on his fantastic album „Dream Theory in Malaya“. Jon wrote some lines about special dream rituals of the Senoi, an old tribe. Lucid dreaming goes back, too, to ancient yoga traditions in which you can learn to go directly into the lucid dream state in the minutes you start sleeping. The scientific research began, no wonder, in Palo Alto, California, in the „wild 60‘s.“ Times of endless curiosity, that pervaded and inspired science, music, everything.
What happened on the day before this dream? I was at a concert of The Flaming Lips. I was in a second hand record store, too, and found an old copy from the German music magazine SOUNDS. With Brian Eno on the cover. I knew it from my days in Würzburg studying psychology and bought it with a nice rush of nostalgia. I remembered vividly on that day what he had told Lester Bangs. That, before the release of his song album „Bedore And After Science“, he had fragmented ideas for many, many songs. 80? 100? Keep that in mind, dear reader! And, by the way, I am not a musician at all and playing no instrument.The minutes before, I still felt my body in bed, then I was in the dream world. Conscious mind, sleeping brain. I was floating from the physical to the mental world. Old yoga style. I opened a door, closed my eyes and gave myself the impulse to float through the large glass window. The room looked like my living room. But I knew it was a simulation. I kept my eyes closed and wished I was flying into a warm summer’s day. I stretched my arms wide and rose into the air at a leisurely pace. When I opened my eyes, I was surprised because it felt like 22 degrees, but it was deep night on the edge of a forest.
I only flew for a short while, then I saw a suburban housing estate, which in retrospect reminded me of Weissdornweg in Dortmund, where I lived between the ages of five and ten. In my dream, I saw two or three lions (!) making their way towards me. I said to them: ‘Relax, lads. I’m on a peaceful mission.’ The lions slowed down and crouched down. (This part of the lucid dream, with the lions, is directly connected with the Senoi dream practice Jon Hassell once spoke about).
I entered a large house where a lot of young people were obviously gathered for a party. My dream self must have been around 18 and I thought it was time for an erotic adventure. So I called out to the crowd: ‘Where’s my old school sweetheart?’ Suddenly everyone present shouted in chorus: ‘Where’s my old school sweetheart? Where’s my old school sweetheart?’ The black-haired girl next to a music system was probably looking in my direction (I could only guess at her eyes because her fringes covered most of it), I went up to her and asked if I could kiss her. I could finally see her eyes, although they seemed a little asymmetrical. We hugged and kissed and I felt the beautiful beginning of a beautiful sensation.
I was absolutely delighted to realise that I was in a dream, held the girl’s hand and called out to the crowd: ‘There’s no music playing, I’d like to hear a new song by Brian Eno.’ I repeated the request inwardly to emphasise it, and suddenly Brian’s voice came out of the sound system, not particularly loud, but easy to hear. It was a melodic song with a gentle polyrhythm, stylistically from the Before and After Science period. An absolute feeling of happiness rushed through me, and I concentrated so much on the song that I forgot about my ‘old school sweetheart’, who didn’t look anything like my old school sweetheart, and concentrated fully on the music.
In the lucid dream, the critical consciousness is in full swing, and so I, the music journalist, was able to realise that the song is fantastic, that it is not a cover version of any other song, but ‘vintage Eno’ – except that Brian never recorded or composed this song. Maybe the song lasted three, four minutes. I was absolutely stunned. One of my favourite singers singing a new song in my lucid dream state! Afterwards, I had the feeling of being pulled back into my sleeping body. I really wanted to stay in the dream, but then, slowly, I woke up, the adventure was over. What a joy! And what a great song! It actually sounded, in regards to instrumental textures and the young voice, like a song from the era of „Before and After Science“! Imagine, we could record our dreams: how would royalties and copyrights have to be shared in this case?