Couch

Profane

(Matador)

Couch are German, and they play rock music, and they don’t sing. This is not an altogether surprising combination of characteristics—Germany, after all, has a long and proud tradition of instrumental rock acts dating back to Can and Neu (and earlier, you could always argue, to Stockhausen, etc.). The instrumental rock genre itself, if there is one, has seen a recent renaissance with bands like Man or Astroman?, Don Caballero, Mogwai, and Trans Am. Couch fits right in. (Note: I don’t know no German, so I let the often hilariously inaccurate Babelfish translate titles for me.)

I can guess that the chiaroscurist contrast of beatific cover (an image of a pretty park with some distant peoploids in a pool) and judgmental album title means that Couch intend to say something while not actually saying anything (like Godspeed You Black Emperor!, but with less scrutable liner notes). What it is, though, I don’t know, and titles like “12 is only 4” (“12 sind nur 4”) and “Colour” (“Farbe”) don’t help. What’s obvious, though, is that Profane is some of the most beautiful German intrumental rock music to appear in America in a long time.

Like their minimalist Teutonic predecessors, Couch keep it simple. The instrumentation is piano, bass, guitar, drums, with occasional subtle strings or horns. Piano parts often serve as second bass lines, guitars pluck high harmonic, and drums are generally satisfyingly Zeppelin-like. The real beauty of the album, though, comes from the strong melodies—every track is pretty, and “Everything on Traces” (“Alle auf Pause”) and the opening “Plan” are gorgeous. Song structures may be straightforward, but never boring. As great minimalists from Steve Reich to Chuck Berry have always known, the beauty of repetition comes from slight variations and shifts that sometimes don’t even register on the conscious mind. This Couch do to perfection—there are combinatorial variations of arrangements and melodies and just enough crafty developments to keep songs captivating. Brilliant stuff.

—Josiah J. Madigan