During 1980 it was Lutz Ulbrich’s turn to assemble his first solo album, a project that he assembled with a little help from a childhood friend. As he explains: ‘The album Lüül was a longtime dream of mine, because I always wrote my own songs besides the “Krautrock” thing but had not published them. Coming back from New York I felt enough power to get it on and a lot of doors opened. Chris Franke invited me to his superb studio and even offered to produce it. The studio was full of equipment and I had fun playing his Prophet 5, for instance. Also Harald Grosskopf helped a lot during the demo sessions and during the recording sessions as well.’
Lutz Ulbrich: Lüül (1981)
Given the period when the Lüül album was assembled the title of the opening track, Disco Diva suggests the listener may be in for a dancefloor assault, à la Saturday Night Fever. Whilst the recording does have a rhythm that could be described as danceable the music is an explosive collision of clipped new wave or Neue Deutsche Welle sounds, suggested by a pounding rhythm section, the Berlin School, represented by an energetic sequencer pattern courtesy of Chris Franke and more traditional rock with some blistering lead work serving as a reminder of Ulbrich’s prowess as a guitarist. The unintentional Neue Deutsche Welle link was undoubtedly accentuated by the artist’s decision, arguably a brave one, to sing all of the album’s lyrics in his first language. Ulbrich rationalises this decision as stemming from a desire for his words to be understood in his homeland: ‘To sing in German was logical, as I am a native speaking German. I never understood German singer songwriters who sing in English. It makes no sense. English for German listeners is not understood directly. You do not hear every word and concentrate more on the music but when you sing in German every word is understood and you must make it clear that your lyrics are well chosen. You are naked, but that is the risk you take and I love writing songs. It is much more private than instrumental music and much more personal.’
According to Ulbrich, the rich, melodic acoustic High Society Tingle Tangle was written after ‘the hilarious opening party of [Berlin’s] Café Einstein and describes this scene in a socially critical way’. Delivered from the perspective of a distanced observer one can almost imagine the writer sitting in a corner, ill at ease, as he watches the oppulent guests in a sickeningly self-congratulatory celebration of their wealth and success. In contrast Junkie, which is introduced by some tasteful arpeggiated electric guitar is in Ulbrich’s words about ‘a friend who took too much drugs’. After a melodically satisfying introduction the song changes direction, taking flight and provides a welcome reminder of Ulbrich’s past as a member of Agitation Free. Some nifty jamming successfully manages to capture the spirit of a decade earlier and this stylistic flashback is quite possibly a consciously nostalgic salute to an old friend from way back when.
Reich der Träume (Field of Dreams) was written specifically for Nico to sing. As Ulbrich explains in the sleeve notes for his compilation Zeitreise (Time Travel): ‘The song of the rich dream Nico sang only twice and then it was finished. It sounded wonderful and I was very proud that she had sung it. It meant for me a kind of accolade.’ Beautiful, hazy and infused with a haunting sense of melancholia, this track is one of the jewels of the album and something of a miniature masterpiece. If the first half of Lüül concludes with a particularly strong offering, this is something that is sustained once the album is flipped over. Morgens in der U-Bahn, which ushers in the second side is another strong contender for the album’s finest track. Ulbrich describes this as about ‘riding the subway in the morning with all of the ghost people around,’ (source: Zeitreise notes) a scene that is successfully captured using a train-like rhythm and great use of sequencer. Discussing the technical side of the track Ulbrich states: ‘It was composed on guitar but I wanted it to sound modern and cold and that is why Chris and I were transposing the four higher strings of my guitar playing into four single sequencers, which made that special sound.’ The impressive machine-like elements of the song are built upon with an irresistibly catchy verse-chorus-verse structure and some concise blasts of paint stripping lead guitar. It is little surprise that this great song was a hit in Germany and once heard it is almost impossible to ride on Berlin’s U-Bahn system without constantly humming the tune.
The wistful style of the acoustic introduction to Ophelia initially suggests that the track would sound perfectly at home as another brick in Pink Floyd’s The Wall. Ulbrich’s guitar is initially accompanied by what sounds like a trumpet and a guest performance, courtesy of Christa Schnitzer, playing the harp makes for a tender tapestry of string sounds. This pastoral dream sequence is abruptly interrupted by the arrival of an urgent, piano-led second section. If both sections of the song have a sense of longing in common this may be due to the subject matter. In an interview for this book Ulbrich revealed that the song’s muse was in fact Nico.
Friede Freude Eierkuchen combines some of the best musical elements of the new wave sounds of the period. Jangling guitars mesh with an angular and slightly robotic vocal delivery, accentuated by snippets of surging synthesiser bass here and there. The underlying energy of the tracks spills over during its conclusion, which, with Harald Grosskopf’s tumbling drum fills and swells of synthesiser recalling the style of some of the classic album Who’s Next. Lyrically the tracks is in Ulbrich’s words about ‘denunciation and police actions during the RAF terrorism.‘ The RAF, or Red Army Faction, also known as the Baader-Meinhof Group were a left wing terror group with anti-imperialist, communist principles and were responsible for a string of murders between 1970 and 1998 at which time the movement dissolved. In German culture the phrase Friede Freude Eierkuchen, which translates into English as peace joy and pancakes, is used as a wry way of suggesting that everything is fine in a superficial way, whilst in actual fact the real problems are being swept to one side, rather than resolved.
The album ends on a lighter note with the playful Baby Baby Baby, which was written whilst Ulbrich waited in Berlin for Nico’s letters from Paris. The music is chugging rock and roll with a twist, as the rhythm guitar is programmed using a sequencer, several years before Sigue Sigue Sputnik would adopt a similar approach for their hit single Love Missile F1-11.
When asked about the work from his solo discography of which he is most proud Lutz Ulbrich responded with: ‘I think the first because it took years for me to dream of it. The big help, especially from Christoph Franke, Harald Grosskopf and Nico was just wonderful and a dream come true.’
Originally issued by the Hannover label GeeBeeDee in an attractive pop art sleeve designed by Detlef Maugsh, the album’s cover shows a colour-tinted image of Ulbrich blowing up a balloon, displaying the title. In addition to the credits the back of the jacket mischievously shows the same balloon about to be burst by a pin. Lüül is a consistently excellent showcase for Lutz Ulbrich’s considerable talents, not just as a musician but also as a songwriter and the appealing variety of the music on offer does not detract from what is a strong and cohesive statement. One of the great strengths of the album is that it acknowledges Ulbrich’s musical past whilst in places suggesting where he might be heading in the future. This is a highly recommended release.
Christian Wheeldon