The return of Everett True | 83. Klaus Johann Grobe
Everyone’s a winner, babe. Everyone’s a winner.
It makes me choke, my taste. Choke over. Even when it’s someone else’s. For years, I helped define the notion of ‘cool’ in music. You think you can cast off that skill so easily? You’d be wrong.
This is great. A motorik beat, a playful refrain, a touch of echo on the voice, a sardonic Germanic pulse. It’s like we’re all living in Chris Bohn’s backyard again.
I’d lay odds that not only is this “better” (chirpier, happier, more fulfilling) than three of what you’re currently listening to – especially if it’s anything that reminds you of Bob Seger, something that’s considered only cool in sterilised pens (*unless of course you genuinely dug the blue collared groove of Seger in which case respect to you and your wifebeater) – but that it’ll add to your cultural cachet too. Considerably.
I mean, when folk say, “oh I stopped listening to Neu! soon as Noel Gallagher revealed a preference for them” and cite Stereolab as old school, you can say, “Man, don’t you dig that motorik groove of Klaus Johann Grobe, they really know how to move it move it” and tug at your beard sagely.
This is like ‘We Are The Champions’ for folk reared on a diet of Silver Apples. Or perhaps ‘The Message’. Perhaps that one about Hitler. A duo who know their skittering Krautrock, for sure. They should lose the Chris Martin facial foliage, though.
Damn, my own taste excites me.