Category Archives: Brett Naucke

And not a zombie in sight

Featuring : Brett Naucke + Feuerbahn


We find with surprise that the songs contained in Brett Naucke’s ‘The Visitor’ have been extracted from separate releases recorded between 2011 and 2012. In spite of this, The Visitor sounds cohesive, purposive and colloidally blended, like a group of themes from moments in a film.

This is one feature of music that appeals to 20Jazzfunkgreats because 20jazzfunkgreats has grown a monstrous visual cortex, and receives an above average dopamine kick from the uses of imagination that music like this, abstract yet functional, facilitates. Or it may be that 20jazzfunkgreats rigidly assorts music using cognitive schema grafted from the DNA of 1975-1985 B-movies, Sci-Fi and avant-garde schlock.

Today, our sense-making apparatus processes the signals broadcasted by Brett Naucke into grainy footage of the rusted geometries of cities abandoned as a consequence of a holocaust of some kind, and that we have survived. Although this could ‘simply’ be deindustrialisation (cities flattened by the lashing of invisible monsters), we place our bets on an exogenous happening (‘The Visitor?’): a mutated virus, the second coming of Nemesis, the validation of the Grey Goo hypothesis, Triffids? Pick your plague. The endgame is desolation, the slow reabsorption of Babylonian infrastructures into Earth like sutures into flesh.

The Visitor reminds us of the soundtrack that Klaus Schulze made for Angst –not in a directly sonic way (the only beats we find in the Visitor are in the wonderfully titled Cellar Beat, and they are not really beats but the echoes of spectres of humans crawling among the rubble) but in its tension: the dark omen of smoke in the sky, the carcass of a deer methodically stripped, & dumped into a stream, voices in the distance or struggling through the curtains of noise of a dead channel, all of the possible and stark manifestations of the trade-off between our need for human contact, and the threat of death in a world that has literally gone to the dogs.

Yet also become blindingly beautiful, something that is most apparent in the ‘Endless Royalty’ that concludes the album – synthetic noises burp and drip away as water is freed from its metal shackles, the drone that summarises ascension engulfs us with its stroboscopic spin, conifer leaves stroke the rays of the sun dawning upon us, we walk out of a forest crashing through the concrete of this big dead city, alien visitors into a world reset.

Brett Naucke – Endless Royalty

You can acquire The Visitor from Nihilist Records.


Feuerbahn’s carnivorous blitzkrieg is another component of the apocalyptic scenario we described above, which we would connect to the arrival of a gang of marauders/condottieri/slavers/dogs of the wasteland awful like Nietzsche’s feral children, optimising their diet and maximising their utility after a trust-busting Deus Ex Machina broke down the state’s monopoly on violence.

We should however avoid to fallaciously ascribe the same motivations, demeanours and modi operandi to the many factions warring in the apocalyptic aftermath (hence their clashing).  They would vary in their colours, and in their battle hymns.

Trimphwagen leads us to imagine Feuerbahn (way of fire, we think) clad in Sägezahnmuster camouflage, stern & ferocious yet harbouring a strange melancholy for the world that was and was left behind, from their necks dangle silver chains with photos of their dead darlings, their guitars wail like hounds at the grave of their masters.

Away they rumble & pound with Sturm und Drang intensity, making the most of the power of electricity wherever they can find it. Their advance has something akin to idealism in its Millenarianist incarnation, a propulsion like Wipers’ if they had advanced through twisted Central European roads instead of linear American Highways, the hallucinatory qualities of a BLANGA epic, playing at a industrial funeral instead of an acid inception.

Feuerbahn – Triumphwagen

Triumphwagen is included in The Fire Dance, which will be released soon by Aufnahme & Wiedergabe.

The Shadows are Persistent


Crackling lightning subsides after briefly signalling your arrival atop this place. The skyscraper’s concrete roof is reassuringly cool and indifferent beneath your bare feet.  You spot a bland, sturdy door rising from the rooftop that undoubtedly leads to the building below.  All abstract thought has retreated, to be replaced by a gnawing hunger for food and shelter.

The door gives way during the third attempt at smashing the lock.

Baron – Hearth Shell

The access stairwell is harshly illuminated.  You shadow is cast like a monochrome kaleidoscope against every available surface.  This would be a problem if there was anyone around to care.

You gaze at the building’s inhabitants: shapes formed of glass and cotton and metal and plastic.  Your eyes continue their search for anything edible; any sign of life; any hope of sleep.  The journey, hardly begun, has left you with nothing.

Death waits in the shadows for you to fall.

A hum, a single tone and a splash of colourful light spill out from a distant corner.  The vending machine’s flimsy resistance lasts only a few noisy blows and the loot is yours.

Death moves from the shadows, stirred by the brittle sounds of your victory.

Shadows dance around; light from the disembowelled machine reflecting off the shards of glass that now litter the floor.  You move on.  Pressing further into the building.  Emboldened by your resourcefulness, cunning and guile.

The abandoned corpse of the machine is slowly swallowed by darkness.  Death stalks you.

You press down levels, faster and faster.  The unconscious feeling of cold dread pressing in on the nape of your neck.  Walls and lights and text and machines — they fly through your vision before being consumed by the darkness that descends with you.

You must leave this place.

A lift lies motionless, its doors open and inviting.  You dive in and hammer the button marked ‘0’.  The doors begin to close.  Light fades in the hallway.  You hear a scraping sound and cast an accusatory glance at the doors as they drag themselves together.  In fairness to the doors, the sound had unquestionably come from further off down the hall.

Brett Naucke – Endless Royalty

The lift doors finally open on a corridor.  At the end is an emergency exit.  The door is open and soft daylight spills in.  Halfway down the corridor on the left, also ajar, is an imposing laboratory door.  The door is emblazoned with every yellow, red and green warning sticker you can imagine.

The lift lights start to dim.

Group Rhoda – Disappearing Ground (Identity Theft Remix)

You haven’t seen Tron and you regularly ignore warnings about experimental equipment.  If you decide to rush into the room, go here.

You hear the faint (and incongruous) sound of branches swaying beneath the talons of unknown creatures…and this seems infinitely more appealing to you.  Exit the building and go here.

2013 References

Image taken from The Stanley Parable

You can acquire Brett Naucke’s excellent ‘The Visitor’ here.

A special mention should go to Identity Theft whose 2011 album, Night Workers, we only discovered this year (thanks to Group Rhoda).  It’s an opaque gem and you should check it out here