04.06.2019

Spurensicherung: Bunte Truppe in der Wire



Die Platte ist da, man kann sie kaufen! Entweder beim Label direkt oder in Läden wie a-musik oder via Datashock bandcamp oder bei Ronnie. (Wer eine von Ronnie bestellen will, schreibt hier eine mail hin: ronnie.oliveras[at]gmx.de.)

Wer noch Argumente braucht, die Scheibe ist in der neuen Ausgabe der Wire sehr schön von Daniel Spicer besprochen:


Bunte Truppe 
Träumen Ohne Dinge 
Play Loud! DL/LP

Bunte Truppe (or Colourful Troop, as their name would have it) unite a few different generations of German musical experimentation. Ruth-Maria Adam and Ronnie Oliveras have both been affiliated with neo psych folk collective Datashock; Ignaz Schick is a turntablist and saxophonist with a background in free jazz; and percussionist Limpe Fuchs has been a totemic figure since the late 1960s when she and her husband, Paul Fuchs, emerged on the fringes of the West German underground rock and jazz scenes as improvising duo Anima. The four of them have been performing together as Bunte Truppe since 2017, combining percussion, wind and string instruments plus an arsenal of electronic doo-dads. On their debut album the group present half a dozen patchwork collages that feel like missives from an imagined post-industrial future when air travel and the internal combustion engine are faded memories, power comes from wheezing solar powered generators, all the parks and open spaces have been rewilded and armed brigands haunt the hills just beyond the city walls. The raw crackle of electricity is a constant presence, with radio signal whine, seething amp hum and the crunch and hiss of a stuck vinyl loop sketching a tactile backdrop. Fuchs adds metallic clang, clatter and thud from her self-made tuned instruments – queen of the scrapyard beating a leisurely tattoo. Various primitive musical gestures surface: wild violin stridulation; snare drum rumble; sudden bass clarinet shriek; Moogish wibble; an inept bugle snuffling like a truffle hound; and an eruption of absentminded operatics. There’s a workshop vibe about the whole thing, fostering an environment where virtuosity is rejected in favour of spontaneous sonic exploration – as pioneered on antecedents such as Sun Ra’s Strange Strings or Alan Sondheim’s Ritual-All-7-70. In this way Bunte Truppe generate some beguiling, fantastical soundworlds: a domed cyber-garden populated by tiny android hummingbirds, electric cicadas and the whir and rattle of holographic frogs; moonlit magic in a sacred circle of dead refrigerators; windowless railway carriages and flatbed trucks pulled by mountainous shire horses with village pennants flapping in the warm afternoon breeze. Perhaps this is what folk music will sound like in a hundred years’ time. 

Daniel Spicer (The Wire, July 2019, Issue 425, p.48) 


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