Always the same does not always have to be bad. Sometimes the same thing is just good.
Photo: Imago/Funke Photo Services
The current cultural and music landscape is struggling on many symptoms. One thing is: everything must always be new, different and blatant than before – or at least that appear. If in doubt, a bad work is preferred in the end, which was not expected in this way than a good one that is confused to the previous one.
The problem is obvious: In the end, this primacy of unpredictability also leads to structural incoherency also to the intended opposite, the predictability. The Kreuzberg nylon punk trio eight buckets of chicken hearts opposes this logic and is unpredictable in its predictable work. This also testifies to her new, now fourth album, which in the best of all the senses is rod goods. It starts with the title: After “S/T”, “Album” and “Music” follows “songs”.
And also in terms of basic musical ingredients, the old CDU commit is still “no experiments”. That means: Front woman Apocalypse Vega still plays her scrammy, sometimes clean and sometimes distorted nylon guitar, which is deeply primed by bassist Johnny Bottrop. Three chords are usually enough for her per song, which is also completely okay, after all she plays punk, no prog rock. And she knows herself in the best company, because drummer Bene dictator also drums the same beat on “songs” as on the three predecessors.
In addition, Vega sings wonderfully unpretentious texts about things that, at least it seems, just so unfiltered. First come, first serve, the motto seems to be. “Hannes want ‘› N phone, and then drove into the desert/ Franzi had a vision, and I got “a cyst”, says the melancholy pre -flock “Ostkreuz”, which is also the secret hit of the plate. The band, on the other hand, comments on the superficial everyday communication in »instantaneous skiers«: »No question/ I’m doing well/ I sit at home/ and spit blood.«
If you want, you can break your head over all of this. The great thing is: you don’t have to, because the texts also work wonderfully as a placeholder for the catchy melodies, for which the band has already been loved on their three predecessors and which you can also find on “songs”.
However, there is a break in style on the album: In “Ode” Vega reads a poem about her admiration of all kinds of women, without a musical primer. “I admire women who are unemployed/ but work every day/ I admire women who decide to be a woman/ and also women who no longer want to be a woman,” it says. Briefly you feel reminded of Maxie Wander’s “good morning, you beautiful” before everything is the same again with the final up-tempo piece “Naked on the edge”.
What is the added value, many snobish, self -proclaimed cultural critics may ask themselves when listening to the album. But the nice thing is: “songs” has no added value. It is simply there, does not require any superstructure and, in the best case, is fun (which cultural critics don’t like at all). In times when H&M T-shirts are sold, on which there is large “avant-garde”, eight buckets of chicken hearts go the opposite way. They sound as always, and that is what makes their music so good.
Eight buckets of chicken hearts: songs (kidnap)
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