A few weeks ago I lost touch with music. Everything I heard just seemed insipid, or like mere blaring. A friend enthusiastically sent me a new album by a great artist. I just didn’t feel like it anymore. And I didn’t feel it anymore. Too much music can sometimes suffocate the enthusiasm for music. My loss didn’t leave me cold. It scared me. I was even afraid that my musical enthusiasm and euphoria might be over forever.
An encounter with classical music was then the cure. Those of you who know Tocotronic may now, for a variety of reasons, believe that my connection to serious music is more in the field of new music: John Cage, Morton Feldman, György Ligeti, Luigi Nono. Just all this awesome avant-garde stuff. What saved me, however, was Beethoven of all things. The old “Ludwig van”! I have absolutely nothing against his music. However, she had never really interested me until then.
Extremely difficult to understand and really awesome if you let yourself in for it
Lucky circumstances brought me to the Berlin Philharmonie. The pianist Konstantin Lifschitz played Beethoven piano sonatas in the Chamber Music Hall. How wonderful that was! What was decisive for me was what Lifschitz played at the end: Piano Sonata No. 29 in B flat major, Op. 106. This sonata is generally referred to as the fortepiano sonata. I think it’s called that because it’s awfully hard to play, awfully hard to get your head around, and really awsome if you put your mind to it.
Beethoven and Lifschitz managed to heal me in no time. I looked at the keys of the grand piano and my mind floated away. All the differentiated moods of this great piece penetrated my synapses. Hard to grasp how much fear, suffering, panic, but also joy is found in the work. I closed my eyes and was suddenly back in 1986 at a concert of my youth: EA80 and Razzia at Ahoi in Hamburg’s Hafenstrasse. It was honestly so full you could pick up your feet without falling over. The music made the crowding and squeezing a joy. “It’s stuffy and uncomfortable / you can’t see much / they call it matatu / just matatu.”
Music is the ignition key for the time machine in our heads
Lifschitz played and the thoughts floated two years ahead in the sound. Hafenstrasse again, two houses down in Störtebecker, where Fugazi play a secret show. The booted trailer punks have fun beating Ian MacKaye and Guy Picciotto on the chucks with beer bottles. I fly further into the Hamburg market hall: Dinosaur Jr. Walls of noise and melodies. Between the songs noise from the tape. No announcements. I remember festivals with my band. We felt like aliens. We were probably in good company. Because the music itself is actually a foreign body at these events. She is pushed into a corner by the smell of the sausage stands, by the sports animation in the shows and by the unrestrained alcohol and substance abuse of those present. Although at least the intoxication of the music can also be beneficial.
I remember being poisoned in 2002 during a party in the Hamburger Tanzhalle. The compact act Schaeben and Voss completely turned my brain inside out. Finally, I remember our first trip to Austria with Tocotronic. Dirk, Arne and I are sitting in the Polo we borrowed from our record boss Carol and we are listening to a wild mixture of Bikini Kill, Prodigy and Funny van Dannen. The sun breaks on the mountain ridges. I have a slight hangover, but I feel invulnerable. Here we go!
Is that classic? Romance or is that already new music?
Music is the ignition key for the time machine in our heads. She manages to catapult us out of space and time. With the end of the concert in the Philharmonie, I was back in the here and now. Applause sounds. Everyone is so right. I’m still unsure for a while. I’ll be listening to some recordings of the Hammerklavier Sonata over the next few days. That’s really remarkable. Is that classic? Romance? Or is that already new music? Incidentally, I like Solomon’s mono recording from 1952 best. That’s my recommendation to you as electronic music amateurs.
For a few days I still think: How sub-complex is everything I otherwise like to hear! And the music of my own band suddenly seems frighteningly profane to me. Fortunately, this feeling disappears with the next band rehearsal. I step on the Big Muff, feel the noise and look at the smiling faces of my bandmates. Music is not a competition. They complement each other and do not have to displace one another. How well.
Regarding Jan Müller’s “Reflector” podcast: www.viertausendhertz.de/reflektor
This column first appeared in the Musikexpress issue 04/2023.