Being born again or the curious case of Benjamin Button. This confusing temporary periphrasis becomes constant for bands as The Satelliters, born in Hamburg. Celebrating the twentieth anniversary of their advent (and thirty something years since a few crazy guys rescued garage rock), The Satelliters' new album cannot be any more descriptive: More of The Satelliters. More of them because the bottle they drink from is endless and they evolve as if time accused a deceleration that has inevitably forked it in a parallel reality. The 60s never ever ended, the great stadia with 180 grades views were never built, and rock and roll scrapes by with gnawed guitars at hidden shit-hole venues. The language they speak with is still loaded with scandalous lyrics, twisting of the prisoner iron bars and kicks in the ears, waking prudes up from their naps, making the madams' hats fly and unfastening the ladies' dresses. The Satelliters arrive now at the 90s, "their nineties", but having matures in the process: guitars sound less hollow, more accelerated and natural. And virtuosity or tags do not matter (excuse me) a damn bit. What matters is dancing, dancing and dancing, the less sober the better. Don't worry, for those who have enough with two Gin-tonics, fun is also guaranteed.
The Satelliters joined us in the same way in which the concert time had been delayed to 11 p.m. (9 at night was not a realistic time): no hurry and without tensions. With scarce parentheses and a clear conscience about what they are about to offer, it is a compendium of The Satelliters more than a new album, the witty kick on the floor saying "Here I am!" Uncontrollable and frenetic succession of songs, barely with time to get some air, on behalf of a band that has been through almost everything: from beach chords (let's go to the beach) and acid psychedelia with byrdnian airs in Don't take no maybe, to the swiftest, most frenetic and rock-and-roller tones which enlivened the first third of the night with songs such as The last complaint of clerence man. At this point, we could not get Gotta get you out of our heads (that harmonica, its identification sauce); It's gotta be you, while some of the distinguishing marks of the band paraded onstage, like the maracas in Steve's hands, vocalist, epicenter-orchestra and organ operator, essential to get that retro pre-synthesizing atmosphere back (highest type in You will never be y Lost in time). Although the central part was filled by their new songs, from The Satelliters' prolific recording cavern also came some other songs of a bigger magnitude, from past and not that distant LPs: Hashish, Unknown state of mind, as well as the successful Where we do go (which gives its name to their homonymous album), You better walk away, Trip to your soul and others which go back to that time of hooded freaks, like 4 Steps To Her, songs which give way to the most playful accompaniment and guitars of Zahni and Diego. Attending a ritual backed by the German quartet means being able to verify for yourself why it is that The Satelliters are considered the sparkling and always incombustible flame of the genre.
Fernando ( who appeared in previous episodes with The Smoggers), along with Ana in the drum set, made us warm up with their mini version, duet, of those noisy pioneers, explorers of contemporary primitivism. Charm Bag takes us back to a sing by The Gories which is representative of that primitive essence: energetic drums which sound beaten-up, guitars that come undone and, rather than voices, eclectic shouting mixed with barking, onomatopoeias and any sound that can be articulated by vocal (human) cords. Voodoo Rock n Roll, their new album, offers that which garage could not offer and which the duet wanted to express. Charm Bag and duo-jet the Stomp, illustrate these intentions, regarding mashing guitar action and losing it, specially this last one that offers the most complete sound experience. Trash rock that cannot be separated from catchy lyrics as in I'm crazy and in New kind of kick. We do not know exactly whether Fernando's hoarse state helped accentuate his message or made it worse, whether it remained a handicap or an inconvenience. Rock & Roll mysteries.