I think I might be entering a prog rock phase. By that I mean I just bought a Can album.
Can is one of those bands that I always hear people talking about, but I’m still not very sure what they’re all about. I knew that they were a (revered) ‘Krautrock’ band, but that is actually quite useless information. In fact, it isn’t even information; it’s just a buzzword.
Anyway, Troubled Diva did a “clicky-on-the-piccy” YouTube extravaganza. It contained an absolutely amazing Can performance of ‘Paperhouse’.
Having never heard any Can before, I was very impressed. I watched it several times over. So I went out and bought ‘Tago Mago’. You see, media companies? YouTube just made you 8 quid.
Unfortunately the album version of ‘Paperhouse’ isn’t quite as good as that live performance. Still, it seems like a pretty cool album. It sounds like acid may have been consumed. But it’ll probably grow on me.
The version I bought is a fancy SACD remastered version with additional gubbins. As seems to be obligatory for such triumphant re-releases, it contains pretentious essays in the booklet.
One of these blurbs is written by Bobby Gillespie. I really did not need that. I’ve not read it properly, but having skimmed through it I think it is mostly an excuse to do a bit of name dropping.
Then there is the other blurb which is pretty unreadable. I don’t know. Maybe it was written in a mad rush, much like this blog post. But there are loads of commas in places where there shouldn’t be any, which makes it take about twice as long to read as it should. Here is the precise point at which I stopped reading the ‘Tago Mago’ blurb:
There’s a moment here [in ‘Paperhouse’] when, so in synch are the band that the song actually levitates.
Aaarghgh! Songs can’t levitate!
I really hate these blurbs that you get with ‘classic albums’. I always start reading them, but I have never reached the end of one. I know that these re-releases are mostly aimed at real music buffs and trainspotters, which is why they all end up on SACD and remastered and all the rest of it. But you have to admit it: these essays are invariably a vat of bumjuice.