Now we need him. Don’t get me wrong, we need Günter Schlienz normally, on any given day,
but in this time of retreat from society and self-isolation, maybe we need him
just a teeny weeny bit more. See, tapes like Iglu are made for getting away, for hunkering down, for spending
some alone time. Tapes like Iglu remind
us that there’s beauty in being by oneself, in introspection, in nostalgia, in
meditation. And, funnily enough, Iglu wasn’t
even recorded and released in response to anything happening outside itself –
it’s just there, where Günter
Schlienz wants it to be.
German
for “igloo,” Iglu as conceptual idea
is a brace from the – literal – cold, but it also encompasses a more general
sense of shelter and safety from exterior elements. Sounds a little bit like
the perfect antidote for pandemic stress, doesn’t it, a relief from the
constant barrage of bad news? I’m here to inform you that Schlienz is on point,
at the top of his modular synth/tape machine/field recording game. Inside his
igloo you hear nothing but the empty expanse beyond, the whistling of the wind,
the creaking of the ice, the blankets of drifting snow, and the ethereal
filmographic accompaniment Schlienz provides it all. Within Iglu you can curl up and stay safe and
warm even as the world around you descends into unknowability. That sounds like
a place within which I can practice social distancing while retaining personal
serenity.
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