Konzertino by Manfred Schulze Bläserquintett – A Wild Ride Through Jazz and Classical Chaos
Alright, buckle up. This ain’t your grandma’s smooth jazz record or some overblown classical snoozefest. Konzertino, released in 1995 on FMP (Germany’s underground haven for experimental sounds), is a raw, untamed beast that smashes together jazz, classical, and avant-garde like it’s got something to prove. And let me tell you—it does.
First off, the lineup? Insane. You’ve got Manfred Hering pulling triple duty on alto sax, soprano sax, and clarinet, while Gert Anklam growls away on baritone saxophone. Johannes Bauer’s trombone slides around like it owns the place, and Paul Schwingenschlögl’s trumpet cuts through everything like a knife. The compositions are all by Manfred Schulze himself, who also handled the artwork because apparently he wasn’t busy enough being a mad genius.
Now, onto the tracks. Let’s talk about “Hymne” first. Holy crap, this thing hits hard. It starts with this eerie, almost ceremonial vibe—like you’re walking into some secret society meeting where everyone’s wearing trench coats and smoking unfiltered cigarettes. Then BAM, out of nowhere, the horns explode into this chaotic free-for-all. It’s messy but intentional, like they’re daring you to keep up. By the time Heiner Reinhardt’s tenor sax comes screaming in, you’re either hooked or running for the door. I’m still not sure which side I’m on, but damn if I can stop thinking about it.
Then there’s “Quintett No. 1.” This one feels like a boxing match between jazz and classical music—with neither side throwing in the towel. The piece lurches forward in fits and starts, constantly changing direction like a drunk driver on an empty highway. But somehow, it works. Those moments when the brass section locks in with the saxes? Pure fire. It’s unpredictable as hell, but that’s what makes it stick in your brain long after the needle lifts off the vinyl.
The production quality is gritty, no doubt thanks to Jonas Bergler mixing and mastering this beast. It’s not polished; it doesn’t want to be. Every squeak, breath, and scrape is right there in your face, reminding you these guys aren’t playing for perfection—they’re playing for guts. Jost Gebers’ photography and layout add to the DIY aesthetic, making the whole package feel like a manifesto rather than just another album.
Here’s the kicker: listening to Konzertino isn’t always fun. Sometimes it’s downright uncomfortable. But maybe that’s the point. In a world full of background noise designed to fade into oblivion, this album demands attention—even if it pisses you off along the way.
So yeah, if you’re looking for easy listening, go stream whatever TikTok trend is currently ruining Spotify playlists. But if you crave something real, something that kicks you in the teeth and then asks why you didn’t fight back harder, Konzertino might just be your new favorite hate-love relationship.
And hey, here’s a thought: maybe we need more albums that don’t care whether we like them or not. Food for thought—or maybe just indigestion.
