Wolfgang Ambros: Fucking Great

Since Oppermann will not be coming out to San Pedro to visit me. And since it is largely conjectured from theoria into praxis that I will be visiting him instead in Seattle this coming month... I can only offer him some telephone snap-shots of a journey I had wanted very much to take with him while listening to Wolfgang Ambrose.

The industry round the Los Angeles Harbor is profound. We cross over two bridges along the road of the 47 freeway: in this instance heading westward this evening past Terminal Island (used to be a Japanese fishing colony, now it's a low security prison). Something about Ambrose goes so well with this particular scary topography: passing over two bridges from East to West: the first blurry one is the Desmond Bridge:

These images are indeed to me extremely resonant with Ambrose: somewhat morose, industrial, profoundly poetic and sad. I will repeat to make this clear: these images for me are listening to these songs. The images are the songs, more inextricably woven into the meaning of driving there and listening to them than I could say. There is a barren landscape but the ineluctable greatness of the sky that glows im abendrot. (I wonder if it is possible to say that this instance is of abendblaue?)


Note the enclosed image of the car dashboard: this speaks to the remnants of Kiarostami: the enclosed space of an automobile that I had hoped to share with Oppermann: two subjectivities enclosed in a tight space and yet looking out at the industrial complexes willfully strewn as far as the eye can imagine. Something about this experience I wanted very much to share with Oppermann as a critical part of our friendship: it is a "driving there together": Dafahrenmitsein, wonderning, speculating about the world from a place of cultivation, at times a little scary, manic, even paranoid, but capable of dealing with the road, sacred to Hermes, yes, but strangely the mother of our modern age, Oppermann and I have agreed on this formula: that just as Hermes replaced Hestia in the Greek Pantheon, so in Western discourse did the very destiny of civilization did we experience a paradox: the road has become the mother (perhaps the inversion of the Boogey man who is the mother of all nightmares, and yes both Hermes and the Boogey man are easily accessible in such a place as highway 47).

We have to realize that the Port of Los Angeles is the center of the "Bestand" that Heidegger commented on as the factor that was probably crucifying human beings in "Der Frage Nach dem Technik." The Bestand, or "Standing Reserve" is the stockpile of potential energy that is constantly being replenished: the feeling of driving through the middle of this is exhillarating and terrifying: like feeling a piece of the force of a jet plane exhaust plume: probably toxic if there too long: but safe enough to pass by in a car. Later Oppermann came to call the post-cards we sent each other "Bestandsaufnahmen": that is a form of "taking stock" or "inventory" of the current predicament. The title was enchanting and I used it in various places, even, I think, in my dissertation: these were notations from the edge of an abyss: this is a Bestandsaufnahme: this is why I wanted to drive with Oppermann into the heart of the Bestand.

First clear image below of the Vincent Thomas Bridge, lit up by blue. A couple of years ago I had a significant dream about being unable to cross this bridge, that the flow of the life force was blocked from this direction. I made it across fine tonight.






This is the end of the Vincent Thomas overview. The text of Oppermann's commentary on the two songs that inspired me to call him immediately and announce that these two songs were great runs as follows:

1. "Selbstbewusst" by Wolfgang Ambros (1981). Ayres has requested more Ambros.



2. "Samstag Nacht" by Wolfgang Ambros (2000). More Ambros, this one a German version of "Heart of Saturday Night". Ayres has already pre-approved Ambros' Waits-covers which he heard during his last visit to Seattle two years ago.

The rough tonality fo Ambros voice that pierces through these two great songs, along with a very solid, no-nonsense rock band behind him make these songs everything I would want out of such music. When compared to Niel Young, well as bob Dylan sings "As great as you are you can't be greater than yourself." Ambrose is probably an Austrian legend, but to me he is a very recent revelation comparatively speaking. Everyone knows that Niel Young defines rock music in a profound manner. Ambrose gives it soul, soul, soul. Thank you Oppermann, you score big points on this one.


I cannot say I found you to be as excited about any one of the musical offerings I left you, Oppermann. What I am saying here should chide you without being taken too seriously, it is the sort of discussion we could still have while driving there together in a car: That is attributable to my lack of taste in musical matters, and barring that de gustibus non disputandum the problem you face of being haunted by a stiffness with regard to new musical things. Your taste is undisputably great, but if it focuses only on greatness it sometimes may leave out mediocrity: an indictment that you have accused me of from time to time: there can be greatness that is soul-less... and there can be mediocrity that is soulful... a chonundrum for yet another web log (already discussed in my discussion of Thomas Mann's Dr. Faustus, a book that Oppermann gave to me for my reading during my dissertation), the web log that will discuss the problem of greatness, and mediocrity, and soul.