Faust

In 1969 Werner "Zappi" Diermaier (drums), Hans Joachim Irmler (keyboards) and Arnold Meifert (percussions) were playing in Campylognatus Citelli. In Hamburg they hooked up with three musicians from Nukleus: Jean Herve` Peron (bass), Rudolf Sosna (guitar) and Gunter Wuesthoff (saxophone). The six became Faust and, helped by journalist Uwe Nettelbeck, set up their studio in the nearby village of Wuemme.

Their first album, Faust (Polydor, 1971), their (and one of rock music’s) masterwork, contains three lengthy musical digressions. These Dadaist collages and explorations in musique concrete make a very free use of "found sounds." Why Don’t You Eat Carrots, the opening track, begins with a piercing, radioactive whistle, which leaks into two “classic” sixties snippets, Satisfaction by the Rolling Stones and All You Need Is Love by The Beatles. Both are demoniacally distorted. From there, a free flow of gags commences, which includes cabaret piano and a brass band, which show an obvious Frank Zappa influence, and voice distortion and electronics derivative of Stockhausen. The opening track is a demented jazz-rock jam crushed by pneumatic hammers, which contains cosmic hisses and crowded thumps, all of which is dominated by a collegiate choir. Eventually everything fades into nothingness: a cosmic wind brings echoes and fragments of the previous portion of the song along with pieces of a lost conversation; these are coupled by frightening blasts of radiation.

Following the clustered first piece is Meadow Meal. The second track opens with a dense, chaotic field of electronic manipulations, percussion, and “concrete,” unorthodox noises from ordinary instruments. This dissonant chamber music sets the stage for a dramatic huddle of voices. Then, suddenly, the music launches into a relentless flight of blues-rock guitar, which sounds like the Grateful Dead. The song, as grotesque as it is desperate, is crowned with a church organ, which pounds in the sudden silence, like a prayer that is, like the song, drunk but moving. The meaning of this absurd piece is cryptic, but not impossible. Faust coexist with philosophers as amateurs, but there message is less developed and more childish. The music of Faust, especially in this particular work, is chamber music so degraded that its identity is all but lost. This confusion, though, is able to communicate a message: from chaos emerges order. Strangely, as the piece becomes even more bogus, the ridiculousness of each ensuing portion of the song makes everything that came before it seem rational and ordered.

As demonstrated by their masterpiece and the closing song on the album, Miss Fortune, Faust’s imagination held room for even more reckless composition. The song opens with a crescendo of typical stormy Teutonic tribalism ("motorik" rhythm and drumming and violent distortions), from which springs a surreal duet between a wild jazz-rock guitar and an acoustic, psychedelic, strumming flamenco guitar. The chaos falls, and begins an eerie silence, which is suddenly interrupted by the lullaby of a drunken muezzin, itself accompanied by only the thread of a malignant synthesizer and the shaky basis of a plan, with the rhythm section soon taking it to the speed of a waltz. After a few seconds, a sweeping, astronomical hurricane is unleashed. Once the spasms subside, though, there remains only one song, seeming to come straight out of an asylum (and it is multiplied by a thousand echoes from that asylum’s cells). In this tortured section of the song, loud, squeaking voice recordings are launched at crazy speeds, and they are punctuated by horrendous music hall piano and interrupted and overtaken by fragments from a tape-grinding organ. After a short interlude of silence, the finish is soft, magical and delirious. The overwhelming masterpiece ends with two alternating voices relaying a medieval fairytale over a subtle guitar. This fairytale, and one verse in particular, sums up Faust’s entire, complex philosophy, dealt with throughout the album: “Are we supposed to be or not to be.” With this closing song, Faust had managed to blend the grotesque, the everyday, and the transcendent into a colossal contradiction, a catastrophic imbalance, which serves as a summation of the human condition that in a way is more accurate than any rational discourse.

The album’s overwhelming feeling is one of loneliness, helplessness, and despair. The sonic cyclones loom over the gaunt, threatening fate of human existence. The humanity that transpires from the album’s overwhelming message of apocalypse is both physical (the Germanic accents) and mental (all the paranoia of modern man), inexorably doomed to crumble against the rugged ramparts of history. Faust, Goethe-ian and Wagnerian, raise a solemn hymn to universal defeat, which sublimates the titanic human adventure. Humans who, while admiring the immense universe, wonder doubtful and fearful "Are we supposed to be or not to be?" are the most poignant vision handed down by Germanic rock. The final lines of the record ("... and at the end realize that/ nobody knows/ if it really happened") beat any lyric ever written by Bob Dylan or Nick Cave. This is simply great poetry.

So Far (1972), contained structured songs rather than free-form jams. It did not carry the staggering momentum of its predecessor, and confirmed the desecration of the quintet. The album is saved thanks to the obsessive paranoia of It's A Rainy Day, the Zappa-esque imagination of I've Got My TV, and the electronic sabbat, Mamie Is Blue, but too many songs are simply ambiguously trivial or clearly derivative.

The third album, Tapes (Virgin, 1973), is presented as a collection of 26 unpublished and “lost” songs, but in fact it was written and recorded in Oxford (not so "random" as the legend would have it be). The nature of the disorganized collection is simply the nature of Faust. These "tapes,” in reality, testify to the creativity of the ensemble in the mature stage.

Fifty seconds of dissonant piano clusters and a few seconds of chaos lead (at minute 1:20) to a serene Syd Barrett-ian fairy tale. Three minutes later the song has turned into a romantic guitar theme. At 5:20 a Tibetan-like orgy of droning voices and primitive percussions leads into a Gong-ian vaudeville, which, in turn, collapses in a saxophone-driven jam. The refrain of the song returns, repeated for several minutes over and over again. At 14:25 a bit of musique concrete a` la Pink Floyd's Alan's Psychedelica Breakfast leads into a mesmerizing fanfare/march of cacophonous proto-industrial music. Orchestral dissonances, that connect to the beginning, and distorted tape music take over for a few minutes of absolute chaos. At 23:30 a clarinet and a saxophone bark at the moon over a jazzy bass line. After several minutes of casual sounds, at 35:10 a new song appear. The album ends with two minutes recited in French over an acoustic guitar: again, Faust gives meaning to the preceding chaos by pausing and reflecting in a melancholy tone.
In the age of Mike Oldfield's Tubular Bells this was actually a "hit" of progressive-rock (50,000 copies sold in one year).

Faust's second masterpiece, IV (1973), or, better, its tour de force Krautrock, is a bleak, menacing, agonizing whirlwind of galactic magma that consume thermonuclear energy. If the Indian mystics wanted to become one with Brahman, Faust the atheists tried to become one with the Big Bang.

Even while they were enjoying their moderate success in Britain, Faust were dying of starvation. Following their third record, they put out a collaboration with the violinist Tony Conrad, Outside The Dream Syndicate (Caroline, 1973 - Table of the Elements, 1996). The album contains two long tracks, each twenty minutes in length: From the Side of Man and Womankind and From the Side of the Machine. The reissue adds From the Side of Woman and Mankind, which is almost identical to the first track.

In the end of their sullen career, before the dissolution, came Faust’s fourth album, IV (Virgin, 1973). Often containing much calmer music, it is at times near Syd Barrett and folk music, yet it is still haunted by electronic noise. The highlight is Krautrock, the opening suite: a dark, rhythmic noise (a hideous derivative of psychedelic ragas of the Velvet Underground) accompanied by miasmas, rises in a deadly and terrible fashion. The song takes the listener in convulsions of pressing agony. The mind explodes in imminent orgy, and the sonic lysergic trip is more and more cut off from all time. It is a surreal concentration of psychic earthquakes which can contact the origins of the cosmos. If Hindus were trying to merge their minds with Brahman, in this opening song Faust attempted to merge theirs with the huge big bang. Their rock is a hellish version of kosmische musik: it contains no celestial calm, but instead a huge scary maelstrom of galactic magma, frantically destroying the matter of the universe.

The point on the album of the lowest depression is the most touched Jennifer, a soft ballad that is launched into a vortex of a metaphysical suspense. Läuft plays the part of a parody of the Parisian chanson, but accidentally becomes a piece of ambient music (five years before it was invented by Brian Eno). Just A Second opens with one of their most pressing riffs, but lasts only a minute, before you fade into a glitch sent in by loops of a forgotten, frantic piano sonata of Picnic on a Frozen River. The album is even able to grasp circus music: the futuristic music-hall of Giggy Smile. This exuberant music (which at one point pulls out a riff worthy of ZZ Top and a circus theme worthy of Frank Zappa) does, however, seem a bit out of place in the midst of such an emotional cemetery. Frank Zappa is indeed the only musician to which you can owe this operation. The "fragments" ideally continue the work of demystification of genres which began on We're Only In It For The Money, and the marching bands seem like half-serious appendices of Uncle Meat.

Following IV, Faust broke up, leaving behind at least two masterpieces worthy of worship (the first and fourth albums). The legend of the group is perhaps the most misunderstood in all of rock. Ironically, however, the only album to receive even minimal accolades was the worst. None of the four great music encyclopedias of the 1990s (Rolling Stone, Penguin, Viking, All Music Guide, each of about a thousand pages) mentions them.

Faust's fifth record, recorded in Munich in 1973, never materialized, but what survived eventually surfaced on Return Of A Legend - Munich and Elsewhere (Recommended, 1987). There are only six tracks: Munic/Yesterday, Don't Take Roots, Meer, Munic/Other, Baby, We Are The Hallo Men. It sounds like this would have been a retreat to the compromise sound of So Far. The Last LP (Recommended, 1988) contains the eight "party tapes", originally recorded in 1971 and partially released on singles and EPs. These are not essential items. In fact, this is the one disposable album in Faust's early discography. To further confuse the discography, these two albums will be partially (not completely) collated on 71 Minutes (Recommended, 1990), and with slightly different titles.

Faust's resurrection began in 1990, at the "Prinzenbar" in Hamburg. A subsequent live performance at London's "Marquee Club" and a tour in California drew enough interest to secure a recording contract. Diermeier and Peron not only reconstituted the band but, finally, began to perform live. They showed a predilection for chainsaws and jackhammers, whose sounds are captured on Concerts: Vol. 1 (Table of the Elements, 1994) and Concerts: Vol. 2 (Table of the Elements, 1994).

Faust returned to the studio for the first time in 20 years, but, in keeping with their unfriendly tradition, the notes of Rien (Table of Elements, 1995) are eight blank pages: not a single word. was the "reunion" album. Rien is, de facto, an anthology of unreleased material, edited by a extraordinary exegete Jim O'Rourke. The limit of this work is precisely that it sounds more like a O'Rourke remix of Faust than... Faust (Diermeier and Peron). The second (untitled) track sounds like Chrome's manic version of space-rock (replete with Helios Creed's trademark space guitar) before it abruptly ends in silence (Faust would not have ended it this way). Long Distance Calls In The Desert toys with found sounds. Eroberung der Stille, Teil II recalls Edgar Varese's early noise/electronic experiments, while the fifth (untitled) track recalls early Pink Floyd with a bee-like trumpet as the main distraction/attraction and a long, droning coda. Eroberung der Stille Teil I is very primitive musique concrete for collage of voices, found sounds and Gorecki's "Symphony 3". Everything is well crafted and carefully recorded, but that "is" the problem. O'Rourke destroys Faust's original "kraut" spirit: mad, unpredictable, incoherent. Here, Faust has become an ensemble that drags on forever, working on very simple ideas. Faust's music was cryptic, not meaningless: Rien is not cryptic, it is simply over-indulgent, which is... meaningless.

More speculation followed. The mini-album Untitled (Klangbad, 1996) contains unreleased tracks, which are mainly alternate takes of very minor songs: a shameless rip-off. No less pathetic are the 1973 sessions collected on London 1-3. The CD reissue of this record, BBC Sessions (ReR, 2001), adds what was left out of 71 Minutes. It is hard to believe that even the most alternative band of the 1970s eventually ended up trying to cash in on its belatedly achieved popularity.

Unlike Rien, which was mainly a collection of unreleased material, and the live albums, You Know Faust (ReR, 1997) marks Faust's earnest return to the musical scene. The line-up consists of Diermaier, Irmler and Peron (although Irmlet did not attend the recording sessions).
Their art has matured towards a more austere and severe form, which allows for only minimal gestures, far from the melodic/rhythmic conventions of popular western music. The tone of their performance (even in the most provocative pieces) is almost classical: sparse, light, elegant, graceful. What strikes as utterly disorienting is the fragmentation (a few of the tracks last only a handful of seconds), as if the composers need not elaborate on their vague gestures, vagueness being the ultimate message. The spirit of the operation is almost "ambient": more evocative than telling, more in the background than in the foreground. Such is the case of fundamentally uneventful tracks: the cyclic patterns of Hurricane, the funereal trumpet fanfare of C Pluus, the organ requiem of L'Oiseau.
Only two compositions connect with their dadaistic roots: Na Sowas (14th track, and 14 minutes), a demonic dance that riddles a syncopated "robotik" rhythm with a carnival of sound effects (but after six minutes doesn't seem to know where to go next), and Teutonen Tango (16th track, seven minutes), a demented "Ubu-billy" with absurd French voices. De facto, they both remix themselves in their codas.
Other accomplished tracks end up betraying a lack of inspiration. Liebeswehen (eight track), an the epic revision of Duan Eddy/Sandy Nelson conventions, and the humorous sketch of Men From The Moon hardly belong to the rest of the album: they were cute leftovers that the band felt to publish.
What is missing is the metaphysical grandeur that used to complete their cacophonous raids. Here, there is only experimentation on timbres and textures. Interesting, clever, stimulating... but for its own sake.
(The CD includes 17 tracks, but lists 26 titles. Obviously, there is not a one-to-one correspondence. Most reviewers used the first 17 titles: for this review, instead, I identified the tracks according to their length as provided by the band).

Peron was replaced by bassist Michael Stoll, and Faust proceeded to release Faust Wakes Nosferatu (1997), which documents a live improvisation for Murnau's film, and Edinburgh Live (1998), that collects eight new compositions.

Faust was now mainly a quartet: Diermeier (drums), Steve Lobdell (guitar), Irmler (keyboards), Stoll (bass).

At last, Ravvivando (may 1999) continued the program of You Know. Irmler is much more active This is far less idiosyncratic, absurdist, eccentric music than the original Faust. These tracks (ostensibly there are twelve, but organized in three suites) are monoliths. Ein Neuer Tag Dr' Hansl Carousel II Apokalypse motorik Wir Brauchen Dich #6 D.I.G. Four Plus Seven Means Eleven Du Weisst Schon Take Care Livin' Tokyo Spiel motorik T-Electronique

The Land of Ukko and Rauni (2000) documents a Faust show in Helsinki. The line-up was Lars Paukstat (percussions), Stoll, Lobdell and Diermeir.

In the age of "unreleased", "rare", "remixed" tracks, the band will dig out of the garbage can the tracks for Patchwork 1971-2002 (2002) and will ask friends to create Freispiel (2002), a remix of Ravvivando. Bad habits spread to intelligent musicians too.

Derbe Respect Alder (Staubgold, 2004) is a claustrophobic collaboration with New York-based rapper Dalek.

Hans-Joachim Irmler's solo work Lifelike (Staubgold, 2003), the first solo album by any Faust member, originally a soundtrack for a museum exhibition, is closer in spirit and sound to Hans Joachim Roedelius than to Faust.

The triple-disc In Autumn (2007), featuring Diermeir but not Irmler and documenting terrible live performances, is a ridiculous swindle.

Disconnected (Art-Errorist, 2007) is a Faust album only in name, because Nurse With Wound's Steven Stapleton and Colin Potter took some raw Faust recordings and turned them into the final product.

Kleine Welt (Ektro, 2008) documents live concerts of 2006 by the line-up of Jan Wolbrandt on drums, Michael Stoll on bass, Lars Paukstat on percussion, Steven Wray Lobdell on guitar, and Hans Joachim Irmler on keyboards. Od Serca Do Duszy (Lumberton Trading Company, 2008), instead, documents a live 2006 concert by the line-up of Zappi Diermaier on drums, Jean-Herve Peron on guitar, Amaury Cambuzat of Ulan Bator on keyboards.

Paper Factory is an ensemble comprising Faust member Hans-Joachim Irmler on electronic keyboards, Mike Adcok on piano and accordion, Clive Bell on flutes, Sylvia Hallett on violins, Mike Svoboda on trombone. Their first recording, Schlachtfest Session 1 (Klangbad, 2008), sounds like a lighter, humorous version of Irmler's solo Lifelike. The ambient ethnic jazz fusion is particularly effective in the ten-minute Hinter dem Eisentor.

Peron-Diermaier-Cambuzat's Faust released C'est Com...Com...Complique (Bureau B, 2009) that contains the nine--minute Kundalini Tremolos, one of their best ventures into trance, surrounded by a lot of second-rate material.

Irmler's Faust announced that the double-disc Faust Is Last (2010), recorded between 2006 and 2008, would be their last release. The second disc contains the longer compositions: Karneval, In But Out, Voruebergehen, Primitivelona.

Irmler also collaborated with avant-percussionist Stefan Weisser (Zev) From The Frozen South (2009), credited to Fauz't, with Swiss drummer Christian Wolfarth for Illumination (2011), that sounds like early Tangerine Dream, and with FM Einheit, formerly of Einsturzende Neubauten, for No Apologies (2009) and Spielwiese Drei (2011), the latter featuring Katherine Young on bassoon and Ute-Marie Paul on saxophone.

Peron-Diermaier's Faust released their fourth and possibly best album, Something Dirty (Bureau B, 2011), this time featuring guitarist James Johnston (Gallon Drunk) and Geraldine Swayne on pianos, synthesizers, guitar, organ, vocals, and psalterion, with songs that are both vibrant (Something Dirty and Tell the Bitch to Go Home) and meticulously theatrical (Lost the Signal and La Sole Doree).

Irmler collaborated with Can's drummer Jaki Liebezeit for Flut (2014).

Pared down to the duo Peron-Diermaier, Faust released j US t (2014), also known as Just Us, and Fresh Air (2017), that collects both live and studio recordings, notably the 17-minute Fresh Air.

The lost fifth album Punkt finally surfaced on the box-set 1971-1974 (2021). The extraterrestrial gothic of Crapolino and the dadaistic cacophony of Prends ton Temps show the same mindset of the first album. The 12-minute instrumental Knochentanz, a psychedelic crescendo for trumpet and hypnotic beat, is worthy of their best moments, but the ten-minute Schoen rund, a sort of jazzy piano sonata with bubbling synth, is indeed just a leftover.