THE PRIVATE TAPES VOL. 3

The Private Tapes Vol.3, in the generous pack of six fulminatory eccentric lost scents (of kraut, of the irresistible mind-crash, of the sound-echinoids and the composure-brilliancies), has already an experience of mass-produced milieu and despondency (in emotion, language or the vivid etherealized concept), for the experienced ear, or for the rigorous classic behavior of the band's (or the artist's) art/bedlam lenity. For the separate taste, everything's a possible good music, thrilling complexity. There's the kraut in advanced steps (perhaps rusty by that), there's a small psychedelic linger, and there's the vile experiment of sound-crash and groove-throve. All in a mix of Göttsching solo (and oddly austerely corresponding), Ashra resilient (but with a side-loop to the wispy extent) and Ash Ra Tempel breakthrough clouts.

The first two pieces, short and stout, leveled up in a seemingly broken down, too haughty context, are quite the fragrances of an unveiling sweet scent, for the times of relaxation, the myths of the cluster, the coiled phobia and the mood for a intermezzo numbness of crimpling bustle. That aside, both themes, chosen from probably the most fomented take-outs Göttsching could have done for the band or for a general personal taste, have a strange focus on the emotion, rather than just being called the short experience of a pushed over kinetic. And definitely more in the flavor than in the technique. A guitar palliative, by all means, also having less of anything electronic or subsistent digital or sequential, Göttsching interprets valid beauty in a small creation of guitar surround. Both from 1973, the "groove" is still different. First one, Whoopee, is energic and bright, on noble fingers and light airs. The second motive gets underway a more acid, and more inspirational, leek-push. Both seem to practice a slightly daubed psychedelic smoke.

For Ashra, probably (or only probably?) just by Göttsching mood of comprising every emotion and e-friction to its value, the 1974 krautrock epic composition of repetitive (read: trembling) dark vibes, crisp glooms and small unnatural syntheses voice calamity, titled Schwerer Dino, sounds either advanced (as in the paradox thing in which, by the astute years of quality and deceptive perfection, you master the flavor so badly, the later years turn you down on digitalis or sightlines easier motifs), either just comes in the "modish" way of superficial music on heavy industry and rash tone (for the real or known Ashra beginnings - or switch upon - to have their more electronic, and less enclitic way). Regardless of a guitar music showing up in the dimmest frivolity (read: delicate attach) upon the half sway of it, of some giant protuberances of surround burst or echo hysteria, or of some finally "sequentialized" cove down the last steps of the meditation (implicitly breaking the spell into an evolution of music), the work is somehow under-developed, minding a lined tranquility and gristliness inside the aspheric, the hard-stoned, drones-spited mechanics. Inside all, a grip of dark music, krautish and cerebral, by a small terminology and an influenced adaptation.

The Göttsching practice takes a less placid step (and nothing's anymore a free gesture or a cropped design) by Halensee, a deep resolution of music and pinches, of devour and never that impetuous bitter fracture. The atmospheric glaze works less better than the deep notes of an impulsive, corrosive, fragmentary illusion. The minor stringer is almost perfect, whilst rather the flaw of such a meditation gets undergo by the least relaxing fritters. A work of yet a dark intension and intention. Groove drops the tone on some plain harmony, with a pathos acridness.

In volume two, the suspense of an Ash Ra Tempel epic moment, whether in contrast of Göttsching's smaller, blinder steps, or with the Ashra full of loopholes lightings, was measly approached as a great moment to listen to. A similar touch is a full half of an album, by another classicized (in moods and moves, in the spirit of a broken sound with the euphoria of some deep clusters) live performance a trio volume produces on both a havoc of music diligence and a commerce of heavy sounds for the empty mind. Music starts off very innerved by the roots of sample or simple sound, evolving the texture of dark and sedulous ambiance, on the raw figments possible to comprehend. The avalanche of par-improvised, par-amplified auricular kraut merges a raveling sound-stem. Bit glitchy, otherwise too vengeful on any tranquility, Les Bruits des Origins are a hectic colorscape and a luminance of cutting tinges, made for the dejected philosophy of innate and purposed. Tones in tones, and climaxes in climaxes, the original grief at the base of this seems almost mastered to a "genesis" of music disorder, following logic wind-up, the electronic void or the guitar chimera. Only, of course, the band provokes one of their late sophist explosions (and it sounds different from any "Leary" soundchecks), also intend a reverse movement, in falling-down, crashing their last and their least, soon enough.

Having relatively the least surprising tones and morph-forms, plus giving only the bare resolution of dark pitches on the fright of a normal, enviable vehemence, volume three of the private and unreleased Ash Ra/Göttsching/Ashra is provocative and generically abstract. Lots of a deafening sensations to compensate the grossmund of the latent, lubricious mind-closure. Music for the poignant superfluity. Psych-krautic leitmotifs.