Album Review: Meister Nix by Organum – A Gritty Industrial Gem from 1989
If you’re into electronic music with a raw, industrial edge, Meister Nix by Organum is one of those albums that sticks to your brain like glue. Released in 1989 under the German label Dom Bartwuchs, this record dives deep into an unsettling yet fascinating soundscape. With just two tracks—Meister Nix (Part One) and Meister Nix (Part Two)—it’s not exactly a sprawling epic, but what it lacks in length, it more than makes up for in intensity.
The album was mastered by SST and mixed by Christoph Heemann, while David Jackman handled the performance duties. You can tell these guys weren’t messing around—they crafted something that feels both experimental and oddly cohesive. It’s like they took the chaos of machinery and gave it a heartbeat.
Let’s talk about Meister Nix (Part One) first. This track kicks things off with a slow-building tension that grabs you right away. Imagine cold steel grinding against concrete, layered with distant echoes and distorted drones. There’s no clear melody here, just textures that crawl under your skin. What I remember most about this part is how it forces you to sit still—it demands your attention. Halfway through, there’s this moment where everything drops out except for this faint, almost imperceptible hum. It’s eerie as hell, but also kinda beautiful in its own way.
Then there’s Meister Nix (Part Two), which takes things up a notch. The second half feels angrier, louder, and way more confrontational. The beats hit harder, and the layers of noise start piling on top of each other until it’s almost overwhelming. But instead of turning me off, it pulls me deeper in. Around the 7-minute mark, there’s this weird glitchy section that sounds like someone rewiring a robot mid-meltdown. Honestly, I’ve listened to it five times now, and I still can’t decide if it’s genius or just plain nuts. Either way, it works.
What stands out about Meister Nix isn’t just its sound—it’s the mood it creates. This isn’t background music; it’s front-and-center stuff that challenges you to feel uncomfortable. Listening to it feels like stepping into some abandoned factory at midnight, where every creak and groan tells a story. And yeah, maybe that’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but for fans of industrial electronica, it’s gold.
Here’s the thing though—at the end of the day, this album reminds me of why we love music in the first place. It doesn’t try to be perfect or polished. Instead, it embraces its flaws and turns them into strengths. Plus, who else would name their album after a fictional character that loosely translates to “Master Nothing”? That’s either brilliant or totally bonkers. Either way, I’m here for it.
