Damenbartblick auf Pregnant Hill

Swallowing air and expunging it out, that's the main life skill of the weatherfish. But what's best about him is his evocative German name: Schlammpeitziger. When German electronic artist Jo Zimmermann launched his solo career in the early 1990s he chose to be identified with this creature. Unlike the fish, Schlammpeitziger's early reputation was built on his inventive use of cheap Casio synthesizers and composite nouns, such as Erdrauchharnschleck, Burgfensterrhythmuskuckloch, Freundlichbaracudamelodieliedgut, Spacerokkmountainrutschquartier or Augenwischwaldmoppgeflöte, to name but his first five albums. This here is his eleventh, and while Schlammpeitziger's art has moved on, true to his nature it does contain some colourful references to toilet habits. In his search for inspiration Schlammpeitziger is the eternal pedant, following up the most inconspicuous leads to find different ways of making sense of reality. A magnetist's curiosity drives this folklorist of the self deep into the thickets of the world. Where others get caught up in well-worn symbolisms or cling to new age rituals with their drones and flickering lights, Schlammpeitziger is taking it easy. He turns his toes inwards, rotates his hips and beams light signals up into the dark. Jo Zimmermann has the primal funk, a beat that can thread anything together. That certain clap, the short gaps between accents, not to mention the physicality of the bass taking care of the lower levels. In all of this, Schlampeitziger's own movements are an invitation to join his parade of mysteries. When the train comes to a stop the doors open so wide that anyone who is present will come on board as if they were mesmerised. And once the train leaves the station, trees, earthworms, wild women and mirror balls alike will go into a mad spin as if they'd only just unleashed.