“In the dawn of the silvery day, clouds seem to melt away.”

Soundtracks is a selection of songs from Can created in a transitional period as they moved on from Malcom Mooney and welcomed the singular Damo Suzuki into the fold. It’s less psychedelic and jam-based than Monster Movie and the shelved Prepared to Meet Thy Pnoom (released later as Delay 1968). Instead, it points toward the meditative experimental mode of the subsequent Tago Mago and its follow-ups. The tracks were made for a few films that have drifted into obscurity over the past fifty years—cult classics Deep End and Deadlock among them—but only keyboardist Irmin Schmidt actually saw the films before the band commenced writing and recording. Thus, Soundtracks can be viewed simply as a Can album, albeit one whose inspirations were primarily from the world of cinema. As the back cover states, while this collection of groovy psych-rock is indeed the second Can album, it is not “album number two”—that distinction belongs to Tago Mago.

Even though it is technically a compilation of songs culled from various films, Soundtracks is organized more like an album than most of Can’s actual albums. But you don’t listen to Can if you’re hankering for a balanced, well-organized collection of pop songs in the first place, right? You’re here for longform jams and tasty grooves. That is what it means to be a fan of the band in the 21st century. Now, there are quite a few delicious grooves to be found here, but a few tracks contain certain elements that tend to grate on my nerves a little bit (e.g. in my opinion, Mooney is annoying as hell on ‘Soul Desert’). For the most part, though, I’d describe these songs as excellent experiments that are above average for the era’s psychedelic krautrock style; but seeing as Can optimizes that genre, these songs don’t match up to their best.

Jaki Liebezeit’s chaotic percussion and Michael Karoli’s repetitive guitar lines drive most of the songs, but we also hear some flute and other exotic instruments. Damo Suzuki’s voice, singing indecipherable lyrics, is essentially utilized as an instrument as well. Though it doesn’t seem to get much praise outside of album-specific discussions, ‘Don’t Turn the Light On, Leave Me Alone’ hits most of my sweet spots—the exotic woodwind, chugging percussion that sounds like two drummers are required, the simple yet sophisticated guitar riffs, the understated bassline, the mumbled vocals. I think it’s the highlight of the album, though I understand why other songs get more retrospective attention. Plus, listen to that intro and tell me you’re not expecting to hear Mick Jagger shout “yow!” as the song begins.

There are two songs in particular that stand out from the others when looking at Can’s output from a historical perspective. One is obvious—the fourteen minute ‘Mother Sky’, which is predictive of the lengthy jams on Tago Mago and Ege Bamyasi, and isn’t at all dissimilar from early Pink Floyd. It doesn’t rank quite as high on my list as ‘Halleluhwah’, but it blows the similarly lengthy ‘Yoo Doo Right’ out of the water and really showcases the best of each of Can’s members, in particular the polyrhythmic drumming of Liebezeit.

The other standout, ‘She Brings the Rain’, is one of the catchiest and most straightforward pop songs Can ever did. It feels out of character for the band, who would not release another song like it for the rest of its career, but for Mooney in particular it feels strange. It just doesn’t feel right to hear the man who spent his time as Can’s frontman riffing on nursery rhymes and yelling that his father had not been born yet to settle into a jazzy tune about sunshine and rain.

I have to be honest—while I genuinely like the bulk of Soundtracks, I don’t really love any of it. Sans meaningful lyrics and vocals, an instrumentally driven album needs to be more than just musically interesting to engender deep admiration. While I think there are a handful of great moments here that are easy to appreciate for their free-wheeling exploration, the whole sheen of the album is one of sterility. Except for the yearning guitar tone and wailing vocals of opener ‘Deadlock’, the draw of this album is purely musical, and the music featured here is best described as robotic, mesmerizing, repetitive, and many other words that do not connect with human emotions. This symptom is in no way unique to Can—it hinders a large swath of progressive rock albums—but it is the most likely cause of my disconnect with this album in particular.

Soundtracks, like most of Can’s output, is decidedly inaccessible. They’re a difficult band to introduce, what with their 10+ minute jams, intentionally provocative instrumentation, nonsense lyrics and repetitive rhythms. The songs here are not revolutionary like those coming shortly after, but the album as a whole is a little bit easier to stomach than some of their more popular releases. It’s a humble hodgepodge of songs that aren’t as daring and bold as those on the band’s more historically important albums, but it works just fine as a stepping stone; a minor success as the band transitioned from Mooney to Suzuki, with relatively few career highlights.

Favorite Tracks: Don’t Turn the Light On, Leave Me Alone; Mother Sky.