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Bass player Paul Lemp named the Candy Bomber project after his own recording studios. He got together with a bunch of like-minded musicians to realise a dream of free musical expression. Bad Seeds drummer Thomas Wylder and Ingo Krauss, a collegue of the legendary Conny Plank, formed a three-piece core to which many more contributed. Kid Congo Powers, Swiss jazz pianist Stefan Rusconi, Jochen Arbeit from Einstürzende Neubauten, Gemma Ray and more. Paul Lemp died in tragic and unexpected circumstances so Krauss and Wylder finished the album. As Volume 1 suggests, the pair intend to continue Lemp’s Legacy.

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Volume 1 by Candy Bomber 1 review. Add your own review. 7/10
3 people love this record. Be the 4th!

7/10 Staff review, 11 January 2017

As press releases are wont to do, Candy Bomber’s spends a lot of time waxing lyrical about the persons and artifacts responsible for Candy Bomber while essentially dispensing no musical infos: that’s okay though, because you can listen to it, and what’s going on in frontman/general musician Paul Lemp’s world is rather impressive, an absurdist blend of symphonia and psychedelia run through a cast of rock music players.

Candy Bomber starts off with of goofy psych rock tweedom before introducing feral vocal hows and a choir of baritones, creating the feeling of garage rock pantomime, with xylophones trembling and guitar strings scratching. It continues with absolutely zero genre praxis, the second track carried over from its predecessor only in its gnarled bassline -- from that point, it deviates into high octave sax yelping and an almost new age vocal, the two coalescing in the muck of noise rock. It moves into the bouncy, staccato harmonies of “Slow Blow” quite seamlessly, though they have nothing to do with one another.

It makes sense that this record is so plurative, with jazz pianists, avant garde legends and rock star supplements all over the place (on this thing, everyone’s played with someone), and it creates quite the collage -- “Black Molly” sounds like someone doing vocal exercises in the room next to a free jazz trio in the room next to a punk band, concluding in an eerie reduction of all three. “Hello Stomach” upends that Shellac-ish bassline, once more, while essentially playing a Can-restrained rip of Mission Impossible over the top. I feel like this level of silliness needs some sort of new term to confer it. Krautrageous?



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