Review Summary: Once gazing onward and upward to infinity, now enshrined in it...
In hindsight, the 1970s were the most pivotal decade for electronic music - a slow and steady metamorphosis away from the arcane corners of academia, first towards the common man's music underground and eventually even the mainstream itself. On one end of the spectrum,
Kraftwerk and
Giorgio Moroder steadily refined and iterated upon the formulas that gave us danceable synth-pop, while on the other
Brian Eno popularised and christened ambient music (though he was hardly the first to actually make it, but that's a topic for another day). But there were also many others in between who contributed to the timeline and left their mark on music history. Germany in particular proved something of a hotbed in the development of electronic music, with many relatively underground bands embracing the opportunity for fresh sounds and braving what was then considered a new frontier. Depending on where you are and who you ask it may be referred to as kosmiche musick or it may be lumped in with krautrock (a term German artists were naturally not keen on), or it may be called progressive electronic or new age music or space ambient or "Berlin school" [of electronic music]. And though Kraftwerk in particular managed to eclipse everyone else in actual commercial success, two names in particular always pop up in the conversation not far behind them:
Tangerine Dream and Klaus Schulze, sonically similar and not without some shared history to boot.
What defines their sound? Long tracks whose structure neither adheres to traditionally well defined forms nor is fully improvisatory, with sequenced synthesisers akin to a repetitive bassline (though not strictly confined to lower registers) shifting ever so slightly over time yet still acting as steady ground for layers upon layers of other synths to meander above and sound out either conventional chords and melodies or evocative ambience; repetitive, yet uncontent to resemble background music with the way it slowly and constantly evolves over its duration. It is perhaps unsurprising then, that the most representative and iconic works in this style, Tangerine Dream's Phaedra and Rubycon, as well as Schulze's own Timewind, Moondawn and Mirage, along with releases by the French
Jean-Michel Jarre and the Greek
Vangelis Papathanassiou, have always managed to resonate past their niche and appeal to somewhat broader audiences, often finding their way into the collections of many prog rock fans, psychedelic enthusiasts and new age hippies around the world.
However this distinct sound was something only achieved after a number of iterations, after experimenting and refining over multiple albums. Schulze's 1972 debut Irrlicht for instance may seem quite alien looking back when compared to the albums described above: more droning, more foreboding, created not with any synthesisers but rather through tape manipulation of sounds from an electric organ and a recording of an orchestra. Similar things could be said for Tangerine Dream's 1972 Zeit, and in fact there have even been claims floating around that the two records stemmed from a common idea that Schulze and
Edgar Froese could not agree upon, back when the former was still part of Tangerine Dream.
With the benefit of hindsight it's quite easy to see 1973's Cyborg as a transition album, not yet abandoning the drones of Irrlicht but embracing and incorporating some of the stylings that would come to define his work moving forward. Finally armed with one EMS VCS 3 modular synthesiser and plenty of ideas, Schulze manages to create a journey equally engrossing but perhaps even more grandiose than his first, with four tracks sprawling over 97 minutes.
Synphära starts things off with an organ drone that is soon joined by a synthesised melodic lead, in many ways a very natural extension of Irrlicht’s first movement. This is soon subverted though as the two trade places, with the VCS 3 introducing a rhythmic pitter-patter almost as if to form a percussive backbone. However, unlike the organic percussion that Schulze was used to back when he drummed for Tangerine Dream and
Ash Ra Tempel, here he is able to gradually morph and modulate both timbre and pitch quite heavily over the duration of the entire track, at times overshadowing the more conventionally melodic sound of the organ.
Conphära chooses to open with a synth line that’s percussive but equally similar to an ominous, buzzing bassline. It only ever undergoes the most minimal of changes, content to act as an anchor of sorts for the listener while ethereal, delirious soundscapes come and go all around it. Its pulsations drive a safe and steady rhythm, like being in a car while space opens up in the night sky above and then folds in on itself like a kaleidoscope again and again. It’s entrancing, hypnotic.
Eventually this journey also ends, giving way to a more austere and sombre painting in shades of strings. In function and to some degree form, Chromengel is not extremely different from the second and third movements of Irrlicht: we contemplated the beauty of space and now we are thrust into its darkness much more directly. The difference is of course in the details, as synthethic sounds soon join and are able to conjure a completely different feeling of alien and otherworldly. There is still subtle melody here and there underneath it all, though eventually it comes crashing down, finally engulfed in sweeps of white noise shaped to resemble ocean waves.
The final chapter in our trip, Neuronengesang, is similarly on the more ominous side but features some similar elements to each of the previous three, though combined and arranged for a completely different effect. In many ways it feels like a culmination of everything thus far, as if somehow being able to see multiple permutations of the kaleidoscope at the same time and having to cower in awe of its true form. An intense experience for much of its length, weaving an intricate and dark atmosphere but not so dense as to be daunting, it’s the perfect ending to this epic.
Recent years have seen some shift in the perception of Klaus Schulze's body of work especially online, with (warranted) critical reappraisal of his space ambient debut Irrlicht seemingly overtaking the “cult classic" sort of love that his mid-70s to mid-80s albums had previously cultivated organically through word of mouth. With that in mind a record that bridges the gap between the two different styles might seem less essential on the surface. Despite this, Cyborg is not only one of Schulze’s most ambitious works, it’s one where powerful inspiration meets the novum of the synthesiser and all ambition is fully realised without a hitch.
