To anybody not able to decipher the German language this CD will be nothing but a weirdo collection of some coverversions in basic homemade arrangement translated into another language[1]. To anybody not able to decipher the Viennese mindset this CD will be nothing but a funny collection of some coverversions with deeply nihilist, morbid and depressed lyrics. To anybody not able to find the fascinating beauty in depression and morbidity, the uplifting wonders of being beaten down in songs, this CD will be nothing but a collection of some songs that are funny because they use obscene language. Which leaves only a handful of people to really get into these songs beyond the state of shouting along to “G’fickt für immer” (fuck forever) and to understand the mindset that these songs come from. Let me take the long and winding road:

Roughly twenty years ago somebody staged a one-man-play combining some of the stories of Charles Bukowski in a public toilet in the city of Vienna. (Those are famous, Jugendstil-toilets, finely renovated and clean, but still toilets.) And there were roughly two kinds of people in the audience. One part wanted to listen to the stories of Bukowski in a new set, searching for the truth that is hidden in the stories of destruction, urban nightmares, working life pain and destitution. The other part wanted to hear the actor say “fuck” and “asshole” and talk obscenities in public. That second part was easily identified by beer-drenched giggling and maniacal laughter. That was the moment I started to hate the happy crowd. Those people who go out on Friday and Saturday evening hunting for fun. Those people being happy just because they are having fun and having fun because they are happy, usually using alcohol to overcome the initial barrier of this emotional tautology and then going at having fun with fervor to end up in the place that binge drinking comes from, where any mature person would just get drunk if the wanted to without making it a sport. People only interested in the surface and if the surface is cool and polished and sparkles a little they are happy. People who really think a one-night-stand can be better than sex with somebody you really love. (When actually sex is always best with someone you unlearned to love.) Stupid fuckers, all of them.

The happy crowd in Vienna will go for this album, go straight to the coverversion of “Fuck Forever” by the Babyshambles, because they know Pete Doherty from the Yellow Press and because they know The Babyshambles from radio. And if everything else goes wrong they will flood the wonders and discoveries of the other songs on this CD with their blind and dumb happiness. Fuck them.

There is so much else on here. From reciting the great, late Werner Schwab in a Calypso intro song that steams with testosterone and fervor and yet undecided if it should be religious or blasphemous. It was perfect timing that this CD was released on the first really cold weekend in Vienna. This coldness seeps through songs like “Luada” (bitch) and “vü zu vü” (much too much), where Robert Zikmund proves to be able to write and sing the songs that Georg Danzer wanted to write in his last years but never managed. Of course, this coldness is also in “so koit” (so cold) a song by the Boys Next Door (which of course means Nick Cave) unearthed by the great Fritz Ostermayer. Especially Ostermayer has a fascination for the “dark side of life”, which sounds stupid and gothic, but here is a scientific exploration into all that is aside and fringe in human obsessions, from accidental deaths during masturbation to funeral songs and from drinking literature to the kitsch music being played in country pubs, and goes after them with skills, seriousness and respect. (Though I guess his two kids will see these matters way differently.) And with “So Koit” and the Tom Waits cover “Schädel hängen” (Hang down your head) he gave me the two highlights of the CD presentation show, the only moments of the evening where goosebumps ran down my spine.

Unlike the Rampensau-moments of Christian Fuchs during “Gfickt für immer” or “Verletzt” (Hurt, yes Johnny Cash rather than Trent Reznor) or the shy Karaoke-singing of David Pfister. Because, unlike what I put down in the first paragraph, it is true that parts of the band are giving in to the happy crowd, at least live, playing to the audience what they want, but hell, it is always hard to resist people applauding you, innit? Because actually “Gfickt für immer” is a great song and a great coverversion, but life it is being destroyed by the audience looking for the easy kick rather than the deeper insight or the substantial emotion. The same is true for “Verletzt” and it is no coincidence that in the same week I read that Trent Renor broke off mid-song when the audience started clapping along rhythmically to “Hurt”. In the same vein (no pun intended) the audience reacted quite differently to the “da hoss in mia” (the hate in me), either because they have forgotten about the Beasts of Bourbon (unlikely, though) or because this cover goes directly and most consequently to the core of hate and ends in the destruction of a whole family. And even though the interfixial “geh scheissen” (fuck off) invites crowd participation. Yes, I know from experience that people look at you strangely when you admit to like songs about suicide written from first person perspective, but those are great songs, and I’d rather lose the picture that some people made of me than those songs.

Once I attended a group of people visiting the Narrenmuseum in Vienna, which used to be an insane asylum a hundred years ago, then turned into the first almost medical institution for the mentally sick, and now houses the pathological-anatomical museum, which has probably the biggest collection of disformed and mutated fetus, bodies, body-parts, babies and so on in the world, in hundreds of glasses filled with alcohol, as bones, wax-pressings or pictures. Once again, the crowd coming alone was split in two parts, both of course interested and fascinated in the subject. But one part looked at the exhibits and listened to the explanations in silent contemplation, sometimes asking a question or two. The other part stomped through the rooms, always running forward to catch the next excitement, to see the next mutation or deformation, hopefully even worse than those before, hopefully before the others could see them, shouting “wow, cool” and “jesus, look at that” and “shiiiit”. The second part, in al their superficialness, forgot completely that after all what they were now looking at once were living, breathing human beings, who should be treated with respect, especially when looking at their fate. Okay, so some of them died before birth, but nevertheless their fate was connected to the lives, loves and emotions of other people, who experienced pain and grief. That was the time I started to loathe people who are fascinated in all kinds of fringe matters for the pure shock value of it.

The music of the Neigungsgruppe will definitely speak to both parties, and since it is never possible to separate them, or to say that they won’t attend, I guess I just have to live with that. Mainly because the fun crowd always comes, because they just have to go out, otherwise they will start to feel the hollowness of their existence. Moreover I know that the fun crowd does not want me to come as well, because they regard me as a funspoiler, the grumpy guy standing in the corner ruining the atmosphere and the happiness of the evening by being cynical and evil. But hey, fuck you, I don’t care. I’d rather be evil than stupid. But it seems I really am getting too far away from where I was heading to in the beginning. So, back to the music, before I start to tell you, why I will never ever go to a festival again, even if Nick Cave plays there.[2]

Musically, there are some fine moments hidden amongst the homemade-to-professional production, which mainly is thanks to the inclusion or the omnichord and to re-arranging some songs to salsa, calypso and – most importantly – three quarter time. The arrangements make sure that these songs can be played everywhere, in every little living room, country pub, branntweiner or coffee house. And the intention is true to the form, because these songs should go over well in any small Buschenschank to people who are used to live with the notion of destitution and breakdown, where relatives have died of cancer or by alcohol related car accidents, where there is not enough money to finish building the house the family already lives in, where money needed to pay bills is spent for prostitutes, alcohol and games of luck. And of course always lost. The crowd attending the show in Vienna, mostly the cool incrowd, the old scenesters and know ‘em alls, have made a life of keeping themselves away from the pain and the nightmares that live can bring. Good jobs, warm flats in the winter, good education, intelligent small talk, interest in art and social sciences, people able to spell and use hard words. People that read leftist newspapers and check the alternative / indie charts and rummage through their attic to find their old leather jackets once a year when another old band from back then plays the Chelsea or the Szene in Vienna. People that look down on the simple, brutal, ugly and harsh life in the country and feel to be superior and more progressive than the rest of the country. The fun crowd will never truly understand these songs. The Neigungsgruppe should do an extensive tour through the smallest Heurigen, Buschenschanken, Branntweiner and Café-Pubs in Austria, to get through to the real heart of Austria.

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