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When I met Harry Rag, the singer with the German band S.Y.P.H.,
I discovered someone whose musical journey was very akin to my
own. Reared on the bloated orthodoxies of 70’s rock and
whitewashed television culture, when punk rock came along, for
both of us, everything froze. History was scorned, our teenage
worlds caterwauled and for a brief moment it seemed as though
the future was now. In London, New York, and in nameless suburbs
everywhere, luminous, empowering secrets were hurriedly being
revealed. You sensed in your gut you had to grab them fast
before they became as corrupted and boring as everything else
you knew. Of course from our 21st century vantage point this
historical moment can seem naive and over eulogized. But there
was something in the air then, and I don’t feel foolish when I
write that it felt very real and very sacred.
Certainly our shared story is far from unique. At the dawn of
punk, countless record collections were discarded, countless
wardrobes were re-imagined and countless bands were created. The
defining thing about S.Y.P.H. is how they breathed in the
defiant air of that time and blew it back out, in a singular and
lasting way.
In 1978, when they formed, they were without dispute one of
Germany’s first punk bands. But once you dig into their
ten-album catalog it becomes clear that punk rock for them was
more an attitude than an actual sound. Possibly only the spiky
anthems of their self-titled first album can be definitively
called “Punk.” By the second album “PST”(1980) Holger Czukay
from Can was on board as producer, and the fast and loud
aesthetic of the debut had given way to a loose, freewheeling
sound montage. There was no manifesto to follow, only infinite
possibilities and subversions. One can easily argue, it was at
this point that S.Y.P.H. helped create the apex that united the
Kraut rock pioneers (Can, Neu! & Faust) with the metallic K.O.
of the punk generation. Other important bands attempted this
fusion (P.I.L, The Fall, D.A.F), but few have pulled it off with
the same ease and lack of self-consciousness.
Not being able to speak German beyond a few words on a menu,
I know I miss many of S.Y.P.H’s charms and subtleties. But one
shouldn’t let linguistic handicaps deter them from seeking out
this band. Harry Rag’s voice is a language in itself: taunting,
vulnerable, shambolic, confident, earnest, ironic. And the music
is a kaleidoscope of experimentation, ambition and texture. Punk
rock, ambient dirges, Kinks-like pop songs, frenzied guitar
workouts, bleeping electronica and slow, dark dub, all
miraculously rub shoulders on this collection. While the words
might elude you, there is still plenty to chew on. The emotion
is fractured, the energy is fluorescent and the musical images
are sharp as crystal. Like all great rock and roll, these songs
resonate deep and true, even without translation.
Chris Eckman. Ljubljana. Feb. 1st, 2004
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