Popol Vuh Gets a Dose of Amon Düül II

Figuring out which kraut related bands one should delve into is never an easy decision. It is, however, made a bit easier if one’s inclinations towards the use of electronics and synthesizers, in general, isn’t too strong. That being said, there are countless bands to be ignored if the electro-rock thing isn’t up one’s alley. And for that very reason, I ignored Popol Vuh for a pretty long time. Any write up of the group – invariably led by pianist and all around arranger Florian Fricke – gets into his pioneering use of electronics. And while that doesn’t really do it for me, not all of the work in the pretty expansive Popol Vuh catalog is overwhelmed by analog synths and the like.

The reputation of the band, though, is pretty strictly derived from all of that over blown synth nonsense that unquestionably led to new age treachery a few years on. And on the group’s second effort, the 1971 In Den Gärten Pharaos, it’s fully in place. There are synthetic pulses, drones and otherwise problematic and in-organic noises. “Kha-White Structures 1” as well as its second half might come off the best even if both tracks are all deranged, elongated notes not meant to do anything other than exhibit minimal variations in all its slight forms. At times, it just sounds like something one might here in a submarine if the captain of that vessel were tracking another ship with sonar. The tune – and moreover, the album – has its merits, but in a small and all too specific sector of experimental music.

As Popul Vuh aged, the line up shifted, always keeping Fricke at its core. And by the group’s fourth album, released in ’74, Einsjäger & Siebenjäger, the band seems to have taken on more of a rock oriented sound, thanks in no small part to the inclusion of former Amon Düül II guitarist Danny Secundus Fichelscher. The marked difference in tone to this entire affair can’t be attributed solely to Fichelscher’s addition, but the resultant guitar playing is aggressive in a way that previous Popol Vuh recordings were not. Fricke’s performances – this time on an acoustic piano – seem to be greatly affected by this new guitarist, though. And while each song still maintains its spacey edge, the direction of the band, on this album at least, seems to be a new one.

Some passages are still given over to that new agey feel – the title track and a bit of its female led moaning point to that fact. But elsewhere, Popol Vuh continues on in grand rockness. “King Minos,” at times, comes off like a Southern Rock jam with all principals mixing it up before some enormous chords take over the entirety of the track. Tempered by the two songs following, both “Morgengruß” and “Würfelspiel,” “King Minos” can’t be relegated to loneliness and has innumerable sonic brethren sprinkled throughout the remainder of the disc.

Even with all of this rock leaning influence, Popol Vuh still shouldn’t be thought of in the same regard as the aforementioned Amon Düül II or even Agitation Free. It has its moments, but not that many.