Six organisations (listed here) have banded together to create the Angry Mermaid Award to “decide which company or lobby group is doing the most to sabotage effective action on climate change”.

You can see a list of their nominees and vote as you see fit. At the very least, it’s quite interesting reading.

BBC’s recent Krautrock documentary provided some fresh interview material and placed the music within a societal context without being dry – but it seemed unsure about what “Krautrock” was in the first place, and therefore what its lines of enquiry should be. Was Krautrock an invention of the British press? If so, the failure to report on the impact of the “Krautrock” bands on British music was a big omission (it didn’t begin and end with Eno and Bowie). Or was Krautrock, if not in name, at least in spirit, a vital component of the socio-political mood in West Germany? If so, why did the documentary create the impression that this was an approach which had simply evaporated? Why did it not mention the German new wave movement (Neue Deutsche Welle) which followed it and which had strong musical and political echoes of it?

The theme of the search for the “German Beetles” was raised (without much point) in connection with Faust, but by the time the post-fab-four Kraftwerk were on screen with their suits and short haircuts, the theme had been forgotten – perhaps deliberately so, since we were to believe that the new music of Germany had turned its back on rock and pop. So we were to think of Can as a Stockhausen-influenced band (which it was) rather than a blues/rock band (which it frequently sounded much more like), and we were to concentrate on the improvisational roots of Amon Düül 2 (persistently referred to by the narrator as “Amon Düül” – which was in fact a different, concurrent venture) and ignore their rapid transition into a polished and creative rock band.

When it came to Faust, the viewer was given the impression that the music was about hitting cement mixers, while their engineering wizard Kurt Graupner, the man responsible for electronically processing and arranging their jam sessions into finished albums, didn’t even get name-checked. Worse still, while the the name of producer Conny Plank was mentioned as a common link between otherwise disparate acts, just one sentence was deemed to be enough to cover his huge contribution. Since Plank’s work was a common thread between many of the acts covered, and the musicians that they influenced, the lack of coverage was a wasted opportunity to give coherence to the narrative.

Krautrock was an enjoyable piece of television, and picking apart its approach might be mean-spirited given the rarity of such music coverage on our screens. But it’s impossible to ignore the fact that the documentary didn’t manage to tie the episodes related into a convincing wider story about the music (rather than the politics), or provide an argument why such (stylistically varied) music mattered and still has worth as a listening experience today. Maybe more time was needed, to let the music speak for itself. But within the time constraints, Krautrock was a valid and quite ambitious introduction to some interesting music, even if it fell short of being an invaluable one.

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Can we say fairer than that?

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Well it’s a bit too late after the event to make a full review worthwhile, and if you want an introduction to Magma’s music, mythology and history you will need to look elsewhere – but suffice it to say, Magma’s first UK concert in many years did not disappoint. The sound mix didn’t favour all instruments equally, but Christian Vander’s percussion came across loud and clear and the band previewed arrangements from the forthcoming album Ëmëhntëtt-Ré segued amongst other material with the expected perfectionism and virtuosity. Even for those not familiar with Magma’s work, which does take some time to assimilate, it must make sense in a live setting – especially when the playing is as effective as it was that evening.

Support act Chrome Hoof – a large ensemble adeptly playing complex music in ’70s-styled space-age garb – tried hard but it was difficult to tell what the sound and imagery were adding up to. The jerky theatrics and repulsive body-stockings of the band’s dancers didn’t clarify matters, and at times the whole production seemed overblown rather than epic. This may well be a band which will make more sense off record, without visual distraction.

Also on the bill was J.P. Massiera, an inventive French producer who recorded under various pseudonyms (the best known of which is probably Les Maledictus Sound, so yes – his oeuvre is fairly obscure, however influential). In practice, Chrome Hoof supplied the instrumentation and Massiera augmented it with howling and by occasionally triggering some sound effects. With the best will in the world, it has to be said that his live contribution was more of an “appearance” than a performance, but nevertheless his music was given a modern-day airing, regardless of the method devised.

The Barbican’s acoustics are suited to ensemble playing, and were sympathetic to the wide dynamic range used by the evening’s music. One result of such acoustics is that if people are whispering and chatting, the noise carries. You might think that this would be obvious, but alas some overgrown spoiled brats scattered amongst the upper circle were uncaring of the distraction they were causing, even when alerted to it by other members of the audience. I wonder what matters of supreme importance had to be debated during such a rare performance. Anyway, Vander has promised that Magma will return to the UK before too long, and it’s to be hoped that there will be plenty of other opportunities therefore to hear their music again, and watch them at work.

The BBC accompanied Synth Britannia with another “synthpop” programme, succinctly entitled Synth at the BBC. It was a welcome extra, but was the sort of show that soothed rather than informed, being (no doubt deliberately) undemanding of the viewer’s attention.

Whereas Synth Britannia had enough breadth of coverage to include some of the more experimental synthesiser acts, Synth at the BBC was a more sedate business which, alas, cumulatively illustrated the perennial paucity of BBC coverage of music which couldn’t be shown at teatime.

The programme got off to a rough start with a clip of Roxy Music performing ‘Do the Strand’. It was a “classic” clip, yes – but could you hear Eno’s synth? Ah, you could make it out here and there and yes, quite clearly in the closing few seconds. But was it synthpop? No, of course it wasn’t.

The remaining clips offered little that hadn’t been trotted out on a number of previous occasions (‘Are Friends Electric’ from ‘The Old Grey Whistle Test’ again?) and the slightly less familiar material wasn’t visually exciting from a 21st-century perspective (nice though it was to see Sparks included for a change). It would, however, be churlish to criticise the programme too harshly for having limited material to draw upon, given that the BBC archives must be pretty low on suitable fodder. It is, however, far past time that the BBC came up with a rather more exciting form of presentation for such on-the-cheap compilations: it was one of those shows which had no presenter, no narrator and no interviews to link the clips but which instead relied upon occasional text boxes being shown at the bottom of the screen. No doubt these are intended to be unobtrusive and gently humorous: in practice, in this case as in so many others, the comments were trite and cynical rather than illuminating or witty. It’s time this decrepit format were junked for something a little more modern. Speaking of which, how about some coverage of contemporary, forward-facing (i.e. not “retro”) electronic acts on BBC TV?

Just kidding.

The BBC’s Synth Britannia television special didn’t have much in the way of new anecdotes by the stars of synthpop (at least nothing of a credible nature – there was at least one example of what might be most kindly be described as “mythologising”), but it told a small part of the history of popular electronic music in the UK in a way which, hopefully, held a general audience interested in music, without pandering to, or insulting, the devotees of synthpop too much…

Any account squeezed into an hour-long programme is bound to be subjective, and indeed, there are so many ways to relate historical truth (even as far as it can be known) that an entire series of the subject might not have widened the coverage enough to have avoided the need to tell a tale from a chosen perspective. Given the time constraints, the inclusion of some of the musical examples seemed odd, especially ‘Money’ by the Flying Lizards (which featured a prepared piano rather than a synthesiser) but it seemed reasonable that the rules had been bent enough to include Cabaret Voltaire – who were an influential electronic/electrical act, even if what we heard was mostly processed guitar, as the programme sort of admitted.

One name conspicuous by its absence was that of Billy Currie, who played synthesiser with Ultravox, Gary Numan (you can see him in the well-known ‘Old Grey Whistle Test’ clip) and Visage, all of whom were name-checked. And whilst the influence of Kraftwerk was flagged very definitely, we will have to wait a week for the BBC’s Krautrock documentary to hear about some of the other influential German electronic acts. Other countries didn’t get a look in (surely proto-synth-duo Suicide, from the USA, deserved a passing mention?).

Who the heroes are depends on who is telling the tale, and this tale was told well in a limited space of time, for an audience which is accepting of electronic sounds – at least those of past decades. It was respectably wide-ranging too, and did well to include Throbbing Gristle in the same show as Yazoo. Or rather, it did well to include Throbbing Gristle.

Earthrid is pleased to bring you a new release of of moody and evocative electronic music by Cousin Silas.

Available now for free download and on a limited edition mini-CDR, The Melting Static is the complete set recorded for the radio show Phantom Circuit.

The Melting Static is a memento of one of the show’s highlights and shows facets of Cousin Silas’s sound that may surprise you.

We didn’t flag it on the revamped site for Earthrid till today, so we had better mention that we have an email newsletter which is sent out when we have new releases or other major news. To join it, just send us a “subscribe” instruction via the form on the Contact page and we’ll make sure you keep informed.

Of course, for all the latest news, we offer two RSS feeds: see the box at the top right of the page.

Yes, at long last we will be releasing something! Shortly we will be offering you a free download of a new EP by Cousin Silas entitled The Melting Static. This is a set of music originally recorded for the internet radio show Phantom Circuit, and we know you will enjoy it.

There will also be a short run of mini-CDRs of the album available for purchase. These will be in short supply so please contact us immediately if you are interested.

As you must have heard by now, BBC 4 will be showing a “documentary following a generation of post-punk musicians who took the synthesiser from the experimental fringes to the centre of the pop stage” in Synth Britannia, which gets its first airing this coming Friday at 9 pm BST (20:00 UTC).

Its seems BBC 4 is spoiling us, since, a week later, they will be screening Krautrock – The Rebirth of Germany. This clip is rather pedestrian but the show as a whole should be well worth watching. Sound on Sound has some more details.