Peter Baumann: Machines of Desire

A confessional: I don’t really understand the differences between satsumas, tangerines and clementines. I know I like to eat them I just don’t always know which is which.

And all of this awful sub-par observational comedy brings us to Peter Baumann. Who was in Tangerine Dream in 1971 – 77. Do you see? Tangerine Dream. I do know who they are – a very influential proponent of experimental Krautrock, the likes of which goes down very well with me. 33 years after his last solo album, Baumann returns with an 8 track almost fully instrumental album of moody, sparse electronics.

A feeling of menace pervades all the tracks, opener The Blue Dream setting the tone that the rest of the album follows: droning synths, stomping kick drums and portentous rolling toms. Searching in Vain is similarly baleful, although it does have has a John Carpenter feel to it in it’s later moments, and Valley of the Gods features heavily processed vocal samples occasionally breaking through to a surface almost hidden behind industrial percussion. Towards the end a lead synth line creeps in with a middle-eastern tinged rhythm.

Echoes in the Cave is wonderfully minimalist, while Ordinary Wonder conjures up rain and neon signage, a trip around a dilapidated city of a future that never quite was, a future as portrayed in countless cyberpunk novels. It’s more upbeat than all of the other tracks presented here, the lead synth offering hope and wonder.

Crossing the Abyss returns to the downtempo feel of the rest of the album, beginning with the clattering of dark bells for the first minute before allowing a marching beat and sequenced bass to take over, complimented perfectly with some spooky lead lines and atmospherics.

Dancing in the Dark pushes forth military march drum rolls played on a rickety drum machine with a pulsing, doomy bass and swelling synths, and Dust to Dust rounds things off, the highlight of the album for me. It starts with more metallic percussion that sounds like the ticking of an ominous clock, with Gregorian chants washing over the top. It’s almost two minutes into the track before the synth pad comes in, followed soon after by an arpeggio that seems to be leading you towards whatever horror the ticking clock is counting down. The song becomes much more urgent in the second half, the lead synth line taking on a guitar like tone until you’re left alone with that creepy metallic ticking and the chants again. Play it with headphones on in the dark. I dare you.

Get the album from Bureau B or your local reputable record store.

petecollins