Amon Düül II rose from the communal pit of Amon Düül I, a group of beaters and stompers who made three albums culled from the chaos of a single tribe-jam session. The second outfit saw the madness in that situation, and decided to do their own thing, and not worry about getting a new name (or fighting too hard for the first one). Guitarist Chris Karrer took with him seven of the collective's best musicians, and they formed what is generally thought of as the better half of this family. They're usually aligned with Faust (not really a good comparison), Can (getting colder) and Neu! (might as well say "Frank Sinatra"), but if indeed the band was ever typical "krautrock," they were decidedly closer to the rambunctious prog-rock side (though comparing them to Yes is even worse), with a liberal dose of heavy psych.
Amon Düül II was infinitely darker than most of their countrymen as well, with songs (or more accurately, suites) often running the gamut of proto-goth subjects: aliens, funerals, alien funerals-- they did it all. Of course, none of it would matter much without some seriously engaging music. I first got into Amon Düül II after a friend had compared Boredoms' Super Ae to their 1970 release, Yeti, and though that's a convenient reference, the German band were the far hairier proposition. Pounding rhythms, acid-attack guitar freak-outs, inappropriately wet reverb overdoses, and strange lyrics about H.G. Wells and toothpaste all contribute to the general strangeness that is an experience with the early works of this band.
1971's Tanz der Lemminge (Dance of the Lemmings) was the band's third album, and though they'd already taken the pedal off the spacy, overdriven metal a bit, it's still a sight removed from the pop charts. By that point, only Karrer, John Weinzierl (guitar), Lothar Meid (bass), Falk Rogner (organ) and Peter Leopold (drums) remained from the original group (plus a few guests), though that didn't stop them from filling up their second double LP in a row. The sound is something like old school Jethro Tull (uh-huh, though sans-flute) with so many odd sonic detours as to make the prospect of not one, not two, but three full-grown, epic-length goth-prog tunes (and some group improv to boot) not as daunting as it could be. And for the record, this stuff rocks the haus.
"Syntelman's March of the Roaring Seventies," at almost 16 minutes, is actually the shortest of the epics on Lemminge. Unlike Can, whose Tago Mago was released shortly after this album, Amon Düül II's lengthy pieces are generally fleshed out works, rather than pure studio concoctions and pastiches of improvisation or shorter segments. "Syntelman's" starts ominously enough with a wall of chimes and distant organ tones, but the insistent bass and drum groove boils to the surface, with Karrer's acoustic guitar (which is a major component on the album, and one reason why it feels less a hazy workout than previous releases) working over top, and even some light mellotron (sounding like a choir of children) to give it sci-fi charm. "After a long introducing, you can listen to the story," says the singer, and so another light acoustic guitar interlude brings in the next section. The band may have been influenced by Space Oddity-era Bowie, as many of the pieces featuring song-like sections are reminiscent of Bowie's more whimsical outings. All things considered, this is a pretty warm introduction to the band, if you were so inclined.
"Restless Skylight-Transistor Child" begins with one of about a hundred classic riffs featured on Lemminge-- and if there's one major difference between this album and its predecessors, it's the noticeable increase in major league, hard rock riffery. This leads to a completely different, though equally classic riff, and to still another riff after that. The last one, though, brings it down a notch, and even introduces some nice sitar to the mix. Where this band has distanced itself from the other krautrock bands is its unrelenting eclecticism and variety in its arrangements. Even Faust couldn't claim as many points of reference points as this tune: after the rocking intro, it goes to ghostly freak ambience, then to Musique Concrète broken carousel, onto über-Foghat territory with riffs aplenty, then to something that sounds like it was ripped off of the first Funkadelic album with Hendrix guitar and big beats, and then a crazy gypsy violin goes apeshit. See?
The final grossewerk is perhaps the centerpiece of the record, "Chamsin Soundtrack/The Marilyn Monroe Memorial Church." Where the previous pieces were long, they weren't necessarily mind-expanding (which is what I expect from the best Amon Düül II), and this piece makes up for that in spades. Beginning with cloudy, undefined organ/feedback ambience-- and with a little ancient violin lament here, future-shock noise there-- it is positively haunting. Percussion enters sporadically, though this piece is certainly not about groove. Romantic, heavenly organ repeats what the violin only hinted at earlier, and I'm taken to the next plane in space-rock. Pretenders usually wuss out by including some ridiculous spoken word thing or, even worse, start playing a guitar solo. Not these guys; after the organ, more sound affects and disembodied instrumental embellishments ensue, with the most horrific being the pounded piano about twelve minutes in. As psychedelic noise symphonies go, this is in a class all by itself.
Three shorter pieces end the album, most likely as sobering agents after the preceding journeys. "Chewinggum Telegram" is a fairly standard, early-70s hard rock jam, while "Stumbling over Melted Moonlight" takes out the funky trash and introduces the best demonic riff Black Sabbath never played. The end of the tune turns everything inside out, as the drums get filtered through what sounds like a telephone wire, and the guitar is replaced by weightless organ. The closer, "Toxicological Whispering" continues the end-jam, though with a lazy, repetitive riff more suited to closing your eyes and letting life drift by than just about anything else.
This is not my favorite Amon Düül II record, but it may be the best introduction to the band. Records like Yeti and Phallus Dei are fiercer (and certainly louder), but don't really cover the ground Lemminge does. And in fact, the band did slowly recede into commercialism throughout the 70s (though by no means immediately, as the two records after this one were almost as good), so it's possible this record just marked their transition into a calmer, gentler beast. But, a beast they were (and in some form, still are, for which their recent reunion testifies), and most folks are happy/horrified with as much.
