Holger Czukay
Canaxis

THE REVIEW

A mysterious ancient choir that repeats in a loop, a static mellotron, and a Vietnamese chant.
Holger Czukay, before forming Can, was an electronic experimenter, a student of Stockhausen, who played with samples and tried to mix "classical" avant-garde with rock sounds. He succeeded and did it well because this Canaxis 5 is not only a reference point for all the ambient and krautrock that would come years later, not only is it one of the first and best examples of world-music sounds, but it is also a furnace of non-existent emotions.
When it comes to visionary and mind-bending albums like this one, for me, who am not a poet, not a writer, nor a philosopher, "transcribing" them becomes daunting. Sure, on one hand, there's potentially more material compared to the "norm," but many things are inexplicable even to myself. Yet, I know they are there. It's one of those albums that have that certain something, that indefinable aspect, scarcely perceptible, yet profoundly impactful. So here I am rummaging through words, convinced that it will nonetheless be a banal approximation. I could always objectively talk about sampling techniques, the structure of the work, the sounds used, etc., but it's not primarily for these cold, semantically void "facts" that I find it interesting to write and read a review.

Mystery, mystery of the cosmos and existence, hence fear, fear of the dark, the unknowable, death. The circular reiteration of a solemn sonic phrase gives a sensation of stasis; time no longer matters. The vacuity of reality is slapped in your face without any filter, without mercy. The Vietnamese voices are like an unknown signal from a remote corner of the Universe, repeating senselessly, like a pathetic message wandering in the desolation of time, losing every kind of emotion and remaining as a useless drifting relic. The existential depression/despair of man will forever remain uncompassionate, the enigma insoluble. Man is pathetically alone, naked, in his cold fear. Life at its core is death. The message disappears because it cannot have eternal life; there are only the remaining quantum fluctuations of space-time that now seem to scream with the impotence of infinite pain.

Here, in the second scenario, the tormented and suffering voice of a god imprisoned in a hell at the end of everything (perhaps the continuation of the previous concept) rises who laments and babbles in a pitiful state of mental degeneration. His is an eternal damnation into which he has fallen because of remorse for what he has created: a universe where everything is extemporaneous, ephemeral, everything is sadly meaningless. The space that acts as a backdrop is immense, and there is only desolation. For a few indistinct temporal fragments, we find ourselves faced with the immeasurability of the cosmos, and it is terrifying.

The emotions arising from the concepts with which this music is imbued (which I can only describe superficially), worthy of philosophical essays, leave one stunned. Probably the strongest feeling, which may also be the conclusion reached after undergoing this journey, is a sense of tenderness and compassion towards human existence, so fragile, so foolish. The significant and evocative power surpasses almost everything else I've encountered, and it places this album among the best ever.