Can -- Unlimited Edition

(Mute 61072)

The folks at Mute have just added five Can CDs (covering this groundbreaking German band’s work from 1975 to their unofficial breakup in 1979) to an invaluable series of reissues. These discs, while, for the most part, less interesting than the group’s earlier nad patently more experimental endeavors will, nevertheless, add to this ensemble’s growing underground following by making works that have been out of print for years readily available on Digital audio.

Admittedly, the lion’s share of these records are devoted to the jazz fusion that bands like Santana made popular in the ‘70’s and, although considerably superior to most records of this type, display every excess of the genre, every silly cliche: absurdly long jams, silly lyrical content, showboating guitar solos. . .

Amongst these pedestrian genre records, there is a stunning exception. In deed, the veritable kohinoor of this crop of "can-ny" re-releases is a 1976 compilation which gathered together unreleased tracks extending from Can’s first studio sessions in 1968 to the fusion-soaked mid-70’s era. Because it spans a large portion of Can’s iconoclastic career, this collection serves as a sort of Rosetta Stone, helping to dechipher and illuminate the veritable labyrinth of the group’s varied musical legacy.

Indeed, Unlimited Edition is most impressive for showing the scope of stylistic change that has always characterized this legendary band. Virgually all of the bases of rock’s avant-garde are covered here, from the exploitation of found and incidental tapes and noises to the Beefheartesque squawking of horns.

Also notably present on this disc are the outrageous vocalizations of the band’s ifrst two, uncannily charismatic singers: Malcolm Mooney (who left the band in 1970) and the borderline-absurd, but nonetheless engaging Damo Suzuki (who departed in 1973). Mooney’s gravelly, inebriated voice (one is tempted to call his singing style "unkempt") and his overtly hallucinogen-inspired lyrics offer a provocative counterpoint to the band’s academic early musicianship; Suzuki’s weird scat-- so heavily accented and bizarrely enunciated that what language, if any, it was performed in still remains a mystery to other members of the band -- is perfectly suited to Can’s free-jazz formulations.

With a running length of nearly 80 minutes, this compact disc exposes all the inimitable qualities of this band’s music as it winds its way through the various "phases" and transistions; and because this collection draws short of the more conventional Can of the late ‘70’s, the emphasis is on precisely those elements of innovation and unconventionality that have made this exemplary group an influence on so many others, notably the Buzzcocks and Sonic Youth.

--- Phil Pegg / Catharsis #22 - Nov. 1991