I haven’t seen a “Kraut Rock is Dead” t-shirt or beer koozie yet, but I imagine there’s a disgruntled posse somewhere that believes we’ve reached a saturation point of swirling, arpeggio-overloaded motorik jams. These scrooges are out there, man, at the show complaining about the band’s “nauseating repetition” or something and being all “do you know how easy this is to play?” I’ve seen this. These soulless husks of humans hear a boom boom KA boom boom boom KA boom boom boom KA boom boom boom KA and also a dee doo Dee doo dee Doo DEE doo Dee too and they just sit there unsmiling, as if these sounds aren’t drops of mana tossed earthward by a lavishly mustachioed Zeus ca. 1976.
Chicago’s Bitchin Bajas bring the tones to silence the haters. The two 17-ish-minute journeys that comprise their new Krausened EP (on Permanent Records) swell and crest beautifully, locking into long straight grooves for just long enough to zone us out before steering into a new beat or lead voice. Minimal rhythmic elements bop along as Cooper Crain (also of CAVE) and Dan Quinlivan layer repeated organ, synth, and guitar phrases through long trails of delay. Crain’s accumulating organ trills are the finest form of Terry Riley worship, while the arrival of cascading flute melodies from collaborator Rob Frye solidifies the perfect “Ruckzuck” redux vibe.
Farfetched Metaphor Alert: To krausen (kroiii-zen) beer is to combine a half-fermented batch with a fully-fermented batch, resulting in a crisper, more flavorful Frankenstein brew. So… yeah: 1970s Germany is the fully fermented stuff, Bitchin Bajas are the half-fermented young dudes wallowing in it, and the pleasure we get from listening is the natural carbonation.