SPACEBOX: “Spacebox” ******

Recorded 1979


Fans of krautrock, Canterbury music and ‘frogressive’ rock avant-garde often underestimate the extent to which these leading currents of the 1970s were influenced by the jazz giants of the 1960s.  Berlin-based, but Swiss-related Guru Guru were among the bands whose key figures were critically exposed to free jazz, improvisation and Indian ragas.  By the time rock music electrified Mani Neumeier’s and Uli Trepte’s ideas, their musical education was all but complete.  Barely a month after its foundation, Guru Guru opened at a Festival in Essen.  The Fugs closed the evening.


In 1972, Trepte left Guru Guru and over the next three years worked with Neu!, toured with Faust, auditioned for Henry Cow and played with Release Music Orchestra.  He eventually settled to record some material with two musicians from northern Germany – drummer Carsten Bohn (ex-Dennis) and reed player Willi Pape, formerly of Thirsty Moon.  Joined by like-minded musicians from Embryo, the formation cut several compositions at Conny Plank’s studio, but failed to formalize its existence.  It was not until 1975 that two more musicians joined Trepte & Co to form the short-lived Kickbit Information.  Within this format Trepte pursued his original (and allegedly “central European”) ideas of placing the melody content into the minor modal lower voice.  He later spent some time in England, working, among others, with Daevid Allen and Lol Coxhill.


It took two more years before Trepte’s new formation could be consolidated.  Supported by saxophonist Edgar Hoffman of Embryo and Julius Golombeck on guitar, the studio-phase Spacebox co-opted drummer Lotus Schmidt.  The music, reliant on forceful speed control, was marked by dissonance and distortion generated with Trepte’s “spacebox” – a basic yet highly effective contraption containing a multiple input device, a filter and an echoplex.  The result was power-fusion of the highest caliber.  Although the packaging was electric avant-rock, the microstructure was heavily improvised.  It is astounding that free jazz buffs entirely missed out on these recordings.


A self-declared existential musician, Trepte later experimented with modal blues, but never regained the artistic heights achieved in Spacebox.  Stephen Stapleton repeatedly endeavored to document his unique talent, with little success.  Opinions vary as for the exact reasons of Trepte’s eventual musical demise – some stress his frustration with art commercialism and with the pariah status of underground lifestyle, others point out problems with substance abuse, yet others blame his geographic dispersion and lack of focus.  His output deserves attention beyond the walled circles of krautrock aficionados.





We are instantly confronted with Trepte’s claustrophobic vocal processing.  As if confined to a metallic box, his voice contends with licentiously astringent soprano saxophone fingered by the inimitable Edgar Hofmann.  Lotus Schmidt assumes full responsibility for the Vortrekker-type ‘caravan’ drumming.  A little later the fourth – and equally unexpected – ingredient joins: Julius Golombeck’s electric guitar clangs lacerate the power chords in Jody Harris’s & Contortions’ style.  Still, Golombeck’s Neigung is more jazz and less ‘punk’ than James Chance’s contemporaneous New York band and he will limit here his programmatic anger to spicy tremolos.  By now the plodding “caravan” is in full bloom.  Hofmann’s soprano gesture is nearly histrionic, with little, if any, of Embryo’s tarred, spicy exoticisms.  The march of “Zonk Machine” is getting louder, courtesy Trepte’s ‘spacebox’ device, which mixes in savage blasts with short wave radio and tape switchbacks. 


Sue ist ein

Here Edgar Hofmann appears on shenai (an Indian shawm).  Its Rajasthani echoes bake the images of scorched, rusty desolation, in a shocking contrast to Trepte’s obsessively rolled “r”, borrowed from a South German dialect…  Golombeck’s anxious, frustrated guitar continues to evince an anti-jazz bellicosity, but the rest of the band glides through this trap.  Half way through, the ensemble erupts into a fast run, with abrasive, gut-wrenching vocal and cluttery junk noise.


Ich bin süchtig

The piece, dedicated to William S. Burroughs, opens with a flute part worthy of Yusef Lateef’s proto-Eastern, spiritual affirmation.  Intimately tender guitar chords, sizzling cymbals and dry, tightened drumwork all tune up to the sensation of sandalwood fondness.  It is Trepte’s Sprechstimme that abruptly changes the mood into an interrogation, as if exasperated by sudden time signature changes.  Were it not for his vocal revulsion, the cascade of meter changes would recall classic Brainstorm.  None of that referential comfort lasts.  Spacebox overshoots into a raw, blinding blow-out.  It takes Schmidt’s heavy drum roll to stabilize the band, which defaults back to the leadership of the orientalizing flute.  Trepte mostly speaks, but when he raises his voice, the speed change is almost instantaneous.  Thus far, the flute and guitar have been mixed in quite distinctively, but the spaceboxed vocal now densifies the texture.  These noisy blow-outs mask the underlying structure and it is impossible to tell if the original ideas were antiphonal or entirely free-form. 



The ‘spacebox’ device offers a mélange of radio snippets, 1960s’ cool jazz, 1970s’ Schlager and such like non-sequiturs.  A lethargic, loose groove throbs on, with a squealing shenai exploiting the relative dynamic freedom of this passage.  Golombeck’s guitar hesitates between harmonizing and straight-on improvisation.  Indistinctive, muffled tapes of male and female voices emanate through the ‘spacebox’.  Drumming takes the cue from Trepte’s quasi-melodic bass, which seems to be straying into higher pitches, above G.  Golombeck saws some slides, scrapes fast tremolos and yanks E-twangs on the bottom string.  Some quaint voice tapes close the track. 


Sing Sung Song

What begins like a skit in a Scandinavian language transmutes into Trepte’s incomprehensible harangue, stewed in a heavy anti-blues.  This track is highly distinctive through its use of a fuzzed out mouth organ.  Trepte’s shamanistic call-outs drag the rest of the band through velocity pick-ups and drop-outs.  Zonked-out and wacked through, the band secretes a sense of subplinian drama.  The drums knock and the mouth organ whinnies tragically with an intensity that even Don Van Vliet had never attained. 


Tape Talk

Spacebox’s 14-minute long tour de force is an amazing story of fits and starts.  Tumultuous and unpredictable, this highly improvised piece opens with Hofmann’s intoxicated violin and Trepte’s self-assured recitation.  I suspect that it is here that Winfried Beck joins on congas.  Hofmann’s sustained legato notes on his epiphytic violin are struggling to avoid conflict with guitar outbursts à la Sonny Sharrock.  Trepte induces slow, clamorous uplifts with his lair-dwelling, growling, feline bass.  Lotus Schmidt and Beck double up on drumsets when Hofmann’s portatos take on a discordant, riffy quality.  The basic beat is abandoned, resumed, waved off again.  In this purposive bedlam, replete with tragic energy, the ride cymbal misleads us into expecting an eventual take-off.  When it fails to materialize, a jazzy bass figure steps in, now ratified by a flute instead of the violin.  Here again, Trepte’s “lyrics” end many lines with his rrrrolled “r”, whereby he successfully turns his dampened voice into a raspy, scraggly instrument.  While the relentless drum pounding continues, a kamikaze guitar tremolo screeches right through the metallic shout.  The guitar solo eventually skids into a tube distortion, yielding the top spot to the well-projected flute.  Trepte’s tapes mingle with his live vocal input, in direct contrast with a loungey saxophone patina.  Free fusion rock finally lifts off when the sax turns shrieky.  Trepte proves that he can pluck his bass fast enough to keep the multifarious noise machine in check, yet without subjugating all of its cogs. 



Here’s the last statement from this riled, impulsive, curmedgeonly display of animalistic free rock.  The shamanistic voice distortion, the saxophone’s rancorous guzzle, the multi-percussive hail-like fracas and the ultra-fast Sharrockan guitar stitches all meet one last time to proclaim their emotional schizophrenia.  Trepte’s declamation sounds passionate yet bored.  The instrumental attack, sustain and decay impart both anger and indifference.  The guitaristic wall of fuzz dodges any temptation to grandstanding.  I am reminded of Pharoah Sanders’s “Izipho-Zam” – another piece of free mayhem which projected conflicting emotional signals through instinctive abstract expressionism.  Until the very last drop of audible amplitudes, the saxophone soars, the drums roll and the guitar handcrafts its distinctive grunts. 





Irene SCHWEIZER: “Jazz Meets India” (1967)

GURU GURU: “UFO“ (1970)

GURU GURU: “Essen 1970“ (1970)

GURU GURU: “Hinten“ (1971)

GURU GURU: “Der Zonk-In“ (1971)

GURU GURU: “30 Jahre Live“ 3CD (1971, 1998)

GURU GURU: “Känguru“ (1972)

GURU GURU/Uli TREPTE “Live 72.  Session 74“ or “Hot on Spot / In Between“ (1972, 1974)

KICKBIT INFORMATION: “Bitkicks“ (1975)

SPACEBOX: “Spacebox“ (1979)

SPACEBOX: “Kick Up“ (1983)

Uli TREPTE: “Phenotype” MC (1987)

Uli TREPTE: “Jazz Modalities” (1989-90)

Uli TREPTE: “Real Time Music“ (1990-91)


I have never heard the last three positions listed here, but everything else is well worth investigating.


Early Spacebox also appears on compilation “Umsonst und Draussen. Porta Wesvorhica” (1978, unreleased elsewhere).  Early Guru Guru can be found on “Ohrenschmaus – neue Popmusik aus Deutschland” (1970).  


During the period separating the two Spacebox LPs, Trepte spent some time in the US and in Japan, but, to my knowledge, no recordings exist from this period.  In the meantime, Lotus Schmidt appeared with Mani Neumeier and Edgar Hofmann in a highly recommended one-off known as LS Bearforce:


LS BEARFORCE: “LS Bearforce” (1983)


Published in: on October 29, 2008 at 10:01 pm  Comments (1)  
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Günter SCHICKERT: “Samtvogel“ ******

Recorded 1974


Berlin-based Günter Schickert has made a lasting contribution to the art of metric multiplication through masterful control of rhythm and pitch patterns on his echoing devices.


Trained as a trumpetist, Schickert’s opted for electric guitar as his main instrument.  Whereas academic and downtown artists resorted to mathematical sources of inspiration (e.g. Fibonacci series), Schickert remained an intuitionist – layering coherent scales by playing several tracks at the same time.  His results are to mathematics what Möbius strip may be to visual art. 


Schickert avoided the pitfalls of sequencer automatism, which reigned supreme in the mid-1970s.  Although other German musicians eventually attained similar results, Schickert single-handedly created and destroyed an entire musical genre.  Few of his followers ever matched the uncanny precision of his concatenated rhythms and pitches. 


He was joined by Axel Struck and Michael Leske to form GAM in the second half of 1970s.  It is not clear if Schickert has been musically active since the early 1990s.  His recordings have remained undeservedly obscure. 




Apricot Brandy

Like an amalgam of hypnagogic visions, “Apricot Brandy” relies on an unlikely combination of molecular meters, bubbled up by Schickert’s guitar and the maestro’s pickled, ineffectual voice.  The spiderweb of his guitar-generated waves gradually fills up with masses of sluggish echoes and counter-echoes.  Some accelerate into a short-lived dash and eject like bolides. Others slither leisurely and ferment into mucus of inexorable retardation.  From this incessant vortex emerge self-reflecting voices and an increasingly rectilinear, almost staccato guitar reverb.  Schickert’s voice is multilayered – warm, close and incomprehensible, but more distinctive in the background.  The blurred images submerge the spellbound listener until the 6-note theme recurs shortly before the recess.  It rounds off this magical moment of rock avant-garde and raises the question whether later artists who strayed into similar territory (DDAA, Trembling Strain, Gilles Rieder, Frajerman) were cognizant of Schickert’s groundbreaking statement here. 


Kriegsmaschinen, fahrt zur Hölle. 

This 16-minute composition begins with a faint shadow of rotating blades – a rotor, or maybe flywheels.  Two or three high pitch sounds flicker indifferent to inconsequential sonic effects that leak and ebb away without follow-up – an occasional guitar chord, an anemic tinkle, a paltry subterfuge.  Such sonic incommunicados are finally conquered by Schickert’s trademark – a resonating cascade built from a multiplication of legible, carefully defined pitches.  On this foundation, the “rotor” reverb constructs a quilt for a sequenced “melody”.  Schickert’s manipulation of echoes will cause fantasmic auditory misperceptions.  It sounds as if as many as 3 or 4 guitars were playing together – either in unison or in some redefined harmonic arrangement.  The prevailing beat is crowded with additive fill-ins, leading to an illusion increased tempo – a mere illusion only, as in a 16-bar Indian tintal.  Most of time, Schickert’s vowels resound without any apparent semantic content, but when the dynamic slumps, he repeats heavily sequenced slogans directed against “war machines”.  The dominant pattern is of abrupt dynamic swells and a more measured de-emphasis.  These shifts in dynamics are coupled with intra-meter echoing, generating pleasantly disorienting, almost hallucinogenic sensations.  The sheer avalanche of helical superposition makes it impossible to build expectations on when the next cascade will materialize.  If there is a broadly linear trend, it lies in the guitar assaults, which multiply and increase the pitch range at each return. 



“The Forest” is a more meditative piece, organized around a mysterious, bionic call-and-response, drenched in inimitable echo.  In this tender, almost pastoral setting, the undulating effects are glassy, endowed with sleek resonance.  Somewhere behind, lurks the now familiar “propeller”, but it does not (yet) disturb the arborescent, cheery aura.  After several iterations a bass line ominously surges underneath.  A fast alternating tremolo of high notes steps in, then vanishes only to return without resonance.  The proceeding is at the antipodes of the woolly, comfy notes that cradled the first several minutes of “Wald”.  The track gains in impetus and sonorousness.  Low-end “rotor” sound whipsaws, alternating with higher pitched notes, but without dissonance.  Throughout, Schickert sticks to his picking style – eschewing the automatism of analogue sequencer that dominated much of Berlin music at that time.




“Samtvogel” left over a primacy effect that was difficult to overcome.  Still, the formula retained its attractiveness on the other recordings as well.


Günter SCHICKERT: “Samtvogel” (1974)

GAM: “1976“ (1976)

GAM: “Eiszeit“ (1978)

Günter SCHICKERT: “Überfällig” (1979)

Günter SCHICKERT: “In den Zeichen von Sabine Franek-Koch“ (SP) (1981)

Günter SCHICKERT: “Kinder in der Wildinis” (1983)

Günter SCHICKERT: “Somnambul“ (1980-1994)


Schickert participated in other obscure bands in Berlin – Ziguri Ego Zoo and UFOrchestra, the former of which mutated into No Zen Orchestra, leaving over one, highly recommended experimental rock record:


NO ZEN ORCHESTRA: “Invisible College“ (1987)

Published in: on July 21, 2008 at 8:22 pm  Comments (4)  
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EMBRYO: “Invisible Documents” *****

 Recorded 1974


So much has been written about Embryo that bringing it onto the pages of Sonic Asymmetry could even be deemed superfluous.  Spanning almost 4 decades, the creative persona of Christian Burchard, a drummer and vibraphonist, has inspired two generations of artists from several musical traditions.  From Morocco to India and from Nigeria to Turkey, Embryo never ceased to look for that perfect cocktail of polymetric narratives, timbral exoticisms and figurative improvisation.  These valuable efforts have invariably bathed deep inside a cauldron of spirited pancultural communication and cross-pollination. 


Influenced early on by the unlikely combination of Mal Waldron’s exile jazz and Munich’s wacky improvised rock scene, Burchard was fortunate enough to agglomerate a core of fellow travelers who contributed hugely to the band’s immortality.  Guitarist Roman Bunka, and saxophonist and violinist Edgar Hoffmann were the key forces that managed to propel the caravan in times of recurrent and well-deserved fatigue.  Charlie Mariano, a well-known jazz figure, further enriched Embryo’s heritage. 


The record presented here, published only several years ago, documents a hitherto unknown phase of the band at the crepuscule of its vintage inventiveness.  These live recordings were taped only two months after the first perilous “sell-off” LP – something that major labels imposed on the most talented bands in the wake of the first oil (and therefore vinyl) shock.  “Invisible Documents” is a testimony to the creativity of the underground band that was forced, for several years, to come out in someone else’s skin whenever appearing over-ground.  Happily for Sonic Asymmetry, that unlucky period did not last long and Embryo’s re-birth was spectacular.  We will certainly come back to its epiphenomena one day.


 Invisible Documents

We are in Hamburg’s “Fabrik”, September 1974, watching a rump Embryo.  Just as we walk in, a repetitive, almost cavalier jazz guitar à la Lifetime fends off advances from a strangled soprano sax.  Very early on for a public performance, we are served with a drum solo and then a drum and percussion duo – skins courtesy Christian Burchard and bells from Roman Bunka.  Edgar Hoffmann’s soprano saxophone injects short squeaks into this well-behaved racket.  Bunka puts in some Latin accents on the dull, non-resonant bells, poles apart from an almost cymbal-less drum galore.  The duo climaxes and ends unusually, with orientalizing violin from Hoffmann.  Two or three phrases leave us with little doubt that Hoffmann must have enjoyed Indian sarangi playing.  This is surprising – at that time Embryo was yet to embark on its first venture into India.  The violin loses its distinctiveness in higher registers, where Hoffmann often penetrates.  Meanwhile, Norbert Dömling’s bass is unobtrusive and will remain so throughout this concert, but it does help Burchard with articulation.  A nervous high-hat squashing and guitar crescendo will eventually drown the violin.  Unimpressive vocal calls allow the machine to accelerate and Bunka to proceed in solo mode.  The fast pace of his guitar solo spans the rock and fusion formats, engraving a territory of his own.  The bass becomes more prominent and quasi-melodic, whereas the effects from the gritty guitar are now more diverse, with a slower release.  The rhythmic groove flows organically until the soprano sax ushers in the closing section.  The locus is the theme that we hardly recall from the intro.  Guitar and sax etch this plastic matter, sometimes in holistic unison, sometimes as a cluster of separate strokes.  Here the track ends as if the Revox reel had run out of tape…



This half-an-hour improvisation unfolds slowly from a forest of shakers, brake drums and cabazas of nearly Art Ensemble of Chicago – like density.  Finally, a small-toned marimba will apportion equatorial temperature, clearing the veld for an agitated saz.  This long-necked, fretted instrument of Turkish origin has a fuzzy, muddled flavor, even though Bunka always appears keen to hammer down the expressway of his chordal exploration.  In the meantime, an always collectively-minded Burchard opts for a very simple figure on marimba.  An alluvial flute forces its way into this interplay, compressing the saz part into hallucinogenic micro-helixes around the robust core of marimba.  Throughout his pyrotechnic exposé, Bunka stays obediently within the metric code provided by Burchard’s gradated idiophonic attractor.  When the flute briefly vanishes, the duo between marimba and amplified (?) saz enters a tawheed territory.  The flute later returns, but misses the point completely, failing to rise to the religiosity of the occasion.  With the change of guard, the drumset replaces the marimba and the soprano substitutes for the flute.  Quieter, snaky passage leads into a dark corridor where the origins of various sounds are of uncertain origin.  We can only surmise their epidermic, valvate or diodic provenance.  Scraggy, porous, cinderblock soprano disambiguates this enigma and enters a new space within its lukewarm, low base register.  An almost invisible Dömling intones a familiar ethno-funk bass phrase (probably from “Holy Ghost”).  The others follow, in an elliptic, potentially endless fashion.  The electric guitar is, naturally, the most nimble of all the participants in this 8-beat long, revolving structure.  Later Dömling reprises the figure at double-speed and the soprano squawks in a fidgety manner, as if to avoid full involvement.  Cut.



This is a type of jam that Embryo, groping for direction, perfected from mid-1970s onwards; it is based on a sequence of various bass figures, with little logical or diachronic connection.  Early on, a very basic drum’n’bass flow gives us some misleading cues for the daunting 36 minutes to come.  The soprano sax flounders under some crunchy accents from the guitar.  This now will be Dömling’s only moment in the limelight on this recording, as elsewhere he is usually squeezed into a basic ostinato between a very expansive drummer and an occasionally greedy guitarist.  His cameo appearance in Embryo saga was sandwiched between Uwe Mullrich and none other than Uli Trepte, and so his shyness shows here.  Twist, shake and we are in a plunky funk mode with recurring time signature shifts around the refrain – somewhat of an Embryonnic trademark.  Burchard’s indistinguishable vocalizing and soprano saxophone squeals alternate for a while.  Hoffmann’s is a Bb soprano, pitched an octave below the Eb variant and much warmer in the middle register that he typically prefers.  But nothing lasts here.  The way the ungainly sub-sections connect brings back the memories of live rock medleys from before the sampler era.  The next part is more jagged and overdependent on the saxophone and the guitar, leaving too much vacancy.  This is a tendency that Embryo unfortunately perfected in its least innovative era between 1975 and 1978.  Regrettably, this is also the least inspired moment of this recording, but it soon segues onto a “song” and ends on a higher sax note with a more relaxed wah-wah guitar.  Then the drummer speeds up.  Bunka picks up cowbells.  The sax quacks, distinctively edgy, almost shrill, and occasionally muted (a cup?).  A melodic guitar/bass rock theme crashes in.  Clearly, the loop pedals were not yet available because when the guitar goes solo, the background is occupied squarely by the hard-working bass hand.  The dynamic ebbs a little, just enough to cramp some rarefied lyricism from the guitar.  But the morphology of this musical body is a medley.  Faster time keeping will provide a different easel for Bunka’s improvised art.  One or two bass themes later, the “vacant” part returns.  It is problematic.  There is simply too much space, devoid of proper use of silence, syncopation, or a properly amplified and articulated bass figure.  Luckily, Bunka graces us with several valuable seconds of his guitar orientalism.  His knowledge of Middle Eastern string instruments makes him a natural heir to (US) Kaleidoscope and Orient Express.  There is even that short Cippolina quote in which the sustained twang is allowed to scale up to the instrument’s top pitch in little more than a second.  And from there, we are back in a de-clustered funky land.  Hoffmann is back on his suffocating soprano and, for a moment, a guitar and drum duo exposes its mellower jazz side, pruned as fast as it appears.  The endomorphic closing is formless, and seemingly exhausted, but the guitaris will strike out a farewell that prefigures his solo exploits several years later.



Roman Bunka’s masterful oud solo explores the Nahawand mode.  The notes are occasionally bent, except in skilful run-ups, with limited reverb.  Hoffmann’s flute operates in a more familiar, Western scale, but the roles are not clearly distributed between the two instruments.  It is like a casual, hushed conversation in the early afternoon when everyone is seeking shade and daily activities slow down to absolute necessities.  The flute silences it all in an almost baroque Rameau style.


Shine of Walt Dickerson

Post-bop vibraphonist Walt Dickerson died three weeks ago (May 15, 2008).  His most memorable contributions were with John Coltrane and Sun Ra.  It remains to be established how strong his influence was on Christian Burchard.  Walt Dickerson R.I.P.


The track opens with a solo vibraphone, poised, exploratory, clean, but not crystallographic.  The vibrato is well controlled.  Burchard is comfortable with tremolos and grunts occasionally, but white noise glissando is almost entirely absent in his play.  After a while, Bunka’s guitar thickens shadowy harmonic background and Hoffmann joins on low-key soprano in low register, while Dömling takes care of muted agogo bells and shakers.  Once the entire quartet is back alive, Burchard moves over to cymbals, generating succulent overtones.  The guitar/soprano unison is quite unique, with the more mobile guitar making shorthand commentaries on saxophone’s soaring lines.  Here again, the bass is very sparse, almost imperceptible in this exchange between guitar and soprano.  Hoffmann’s tone color is excellent, but he avoids rapid skips – so tempting on this instrument, and leaves ramp-ups to Bunka.  Here the recording ends abruptly. 




Embryo’s discography is extensive, though mostly dominated by immortalized live jams, many of which are of highest quality.  With the possible exception of the quirky indo-funk period (1975-78), and possibly the heavily “African” recordings in the mid-1980s, most of their output is highly recommended.  Positions 2, 3, 4, 5 and 9 best document the young band’s exploratory transition from an early rock format to a unique ethno-jazz concoction.  Position 15 documents their legendary voyage to Central and South Asia (also on dvd).  From the later recordings, positions 18, 21, 22, 23 and 30 are of highest quality and blend many other Asian and neo-psychedelic styles. 


1. EMBRYO with Mal WALDRON: “For Eva” (1968)

2. EMBRYO: “Opal” (1970)

3. EMBRYO: “Embryo’s Rache” (1971)

4. EMBRYO: “Bremen 1971” (1971)

5. EMBRYO: “Steig aus” (1971, 1972)

6. EMBRYO: “Father, Son & Holy Ghost” (1972)

7. EMBRYO: “Rocksession” (1972)

8. EMBRYO: “We Keep On” (1972)

9. EMBRYO: “Invisible Documents” 2CD (1974)

10. EMBRYO: “Surfin’” (1974)

11. EMBRYO: “Bad Hats and Bad Cats” (1975)

12. EMBRYO: “Live” (1976)

13. EMBRYO: “Apo-calypso” (1977)

14. EMBRYO: “Anthology” (1970-1979)

15. EMBRYO: “Embryo’s Reise” 2LP (1978, 1979)


17. EMBRYO: “La blama sparozzi” (1979, 1981-1982)

18. EMBRYO: “Zack Glück” (1984)

19. EMBRYO: “Africa” (1985)

20. EMBRYO: “Yoruba Dun Dun Orchestra” (1985)

21. EMBRYO: “Turn Piece” (1989)

22. EMBRYO: “Ibn Battuta” (1990-1993)

23. EMBRYO: “Ni hau” (1992, 1995-1996)

24. EMBRYO: “Istanbul Casablanca” 2CD (1998)

25. EMBRYO: “Live in Berlin” (1998)

26. EMBRYO: “One Night in Barcelona” (1999)

27. EMBRYO: “2000, Live vol.1” (2000)

28. EMBRYO: “2001, Live vol.1” (2001)

29. EMBRYO: “Hallo Mik” (2002, 2003)

30. EMBRYO & NO NECK BLUES BAND: “EmbryoNNCK” (2004)


Some unique tracks are available on concert compilations, such as “Umsonst und Draussen” (1970s), “F/E/A/R This” (1980s) and “Open Air Herzberg” (1990s).  They have a high documentary value for all Embryologues worldwide. 



Published in: on June 7, 2008 at 7:00 pm  Comments (1)  
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