Love, Sex, Beauty and a Heavy-Metal Guitar

How do I sum up this wonderful evening with the Swedish singer-songwriter Moto Boy at Hamburg’s magnificent Hasenschaukel?
Do I start with talking about his astonishing debut in Hamburg during the Reeperbahn-Festival 2008, where I almost accidentally stumbled right into the middle of his musical cosmos of “love, sex and beauty”?
Do I begin with doting on the unique Hasenschaukel with its lampshades made of dolls, its ever-burning fireplace, beautifully tiled ceilings and tasteful turn-of-the-century furnishings that simply make you want to spend time there?
Or do I declare the angelic hymns of Moto Boy to be the ultimate autumn-soundtrack everyone should include into their seasonal music-almanac?
I am not sure. It almost seems like I would have to get metaphysic to do the evening justice. I would have to claim some sort of magical vibration of beauty in order to account for the wonderful atmosphere of the concert; to explain the hushed awe of the audience in face of Moto Boy’s magnificent falsetto and shiny heavy-metal guitar; to rationalize the frolic enjoyment of the handsome Swede himself, who constantly teased the audience with a hilarious fake German accent and (quite disappointingly) informed his listeners that “Ride My Wild Whore” was not the correct song title, but rather “Ride My Wild Heart” (and I can assure you that it gets exceedingly difficult to sincerely listen to a love-song while simultaneously considering the change of meaning that might be caused by replacing every “heart” with “whore”…).
But I am not the kind of person to believe in metaphysics. I just believe in music. And Moto Boy offered the sweetest kind of it. Simply beautiful.

The Admiration of a Fan

Who would have thought that after all this time – after so many different, unmentioned concerts – it would be a bunch of Frenchmen performing a Bob Dylan song that would revive the urge in me to pick up the pen again to write about music?

It was the acoustic set of the French indie band Phoenix organised by Hamburg’s local radio station N-JOY for approximately one hundred lucky winners. Now for an indie band like Phoenix that is heavily reliant on funky beats and ringing guitars an that had actually just released an album strongly influenced by electronic sounds and grooves, an acoustic gig appears to be a rather odd thing to do. And so it was. The four cute little boys on stage openly admitted to the fact that this was their first entirely acoustic set ever and their insecurity and discomfort with the situation was
obvious throughout the entire show. They hardly managed to squeeze out more than a few words and I am still convinced that the keyboard player did not look up from the keys once while he was on stage. But overall it was still nice. Former dance tunes were suddenly carried by the airy strumming of the acoustic guitar. Unfortunately, the songs that lacked the rhythmic drive soon turned rather tasteless.

In this situation, what could be worse for your own reputation as a professional musician and songwriter to fall back on the nasty habit of covering? And what ill-fated decision made those boys then pick a song by one of the greatest songwriters in history, thereby further diminishing their own proficiency? The answer to those questions? Just one thing: the admiration of a fan.

It was a performance of Bob Dylan’s “Sad-Eyed Lady Of The Lowlands”
that imitated Bob Dylan’s singing to the point where you were able to tell it had to be a Dylan song just by the thin melodic line, and in that performance you could simply feel these French boy’s admiration for Dylan’s songwriting. If you listened closely, you could almost see them: Two boys 10 years ago, sitting together in their livingroom in Paris, playing the acoustic guitar, trying to gather the right chords
from the original recording, playing and replaying that same song over and over again, singing it, considering the lyrics and the way the song was arranged.

These are the pop music moments that keep the system going: the moments of pure admiration from just one silly little piece of music. The moments when you simply cannot stop listening to the song because it speaks to you somewhere within and makes you feel. That’s what pop music does. That’s why it is so often larger than life.

That one contemplative performance of “Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands” by Phoenix reminded me of this simple truth.

Truly, from a professional point of view, these French boys could not have made a larger mistake; setting their poor songwriting next to that of Bob Dylan, but from an emotional point of view I can only say: I liked it. For that single song the guys on stage admitted that they were fans, too – just as vulnerable to the power of pop as you and me.