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Singer Suzuki (2020 at a conference in Düsseldorf): Legendary onomatopoeist
Photo: Christoph Hardt / Future Image / IMAGO
The encounter on Munich's Leopoldstrasse in May 1970 is part of rock music history: Holger Czukay and Jaki Liebezeit, two of the musicians from the Cologne band Can, observed an eccentric Japanese man kneeling on the sidewalk and beginning a prayer performance.
“This is our new singer!” Czukay is said to have said to Liebezeit. They spoke to the Japanese and asked him if he wanted to sing in a rock band. That same evening there was a sold-out concert at the Blow Up club, and the singer of Can's debut album, the African-American Malcolm Mooney, had fallen into depression.
No rehearsals are necessary and he shouldn't change his clothes, it was said in a conversation with Kenji Suzuki, known as Damo. “I should go on stage and do something,” he told the “Süddeutsche Zeitung” in 2018. From then on, Suzuki was there, having been traveling through Europe for a few years and most recently dancing at the musical “Hair” in Munich.
The song "Don't Turn the Light On, Leave Me Alone" for the soundtrack to the film "Cream - Schwabing Report" was Can's first recording with Damo Suzuki. As a result, he was part of the three albums that are among the most relevant to music history in the Krautrock genre and beyond: “Tago Mago” (1971), “Ege Bamyasi” (1972) and “Future Days” (1973).
They all have long instrumental passages, but are also characterized by Damo Suzuki's vocal use, which alternates between chanting, whispering and growling. His shaman-like demeanor made Can's live performances an event - German TV viewers were able to get an impression of the song "Paperhouse" in the "Beat Club" in 1971.
As suddenly as he came, Damo Suzuki left the band again. He had become a Jehovah's Witness when he suddenly walked out of a recording session in 1973.
It wasn't until the 1980s that he resurfaced sporadically as a musician. The new wave and post-punk music scene was enthusiastic about Can; The band The Fall, whose singer Mark E. Smith had a similar associative chanting style, even dedicated a song to Suzuki in 1985: “I Am Damo Suzuki.”
When he saw Suzuki at the Norwegian Øya Festival in 2008, SPIEGEL.de author Jan Wigger "Suzuki's imaginary language, interspersed with bits of English, Japanese and German words (...) brought tears to the eyes of SPIEGEL.de author Jan Wigger." Wigger saw "an unbelievable, completely improvised concert with musicians that Suzuki didn’t even know two days before.”
Suzuki was diagnosed with cancer back in the 1980s. She returned ten years ago. On Saturday afternoon, Can's Facebook channel delivered the sad news that "our wonderful friend" Damo Suzuki died on Friday.
“His boundless creative energy has touched so many people around the world,” says the Can message. "Damo's friendly soul and his cheeky smile will be missed forever." There is one hope there: that Suzuki will join in "a fantastic jam session" with his deceased Can colleagues Michael Karoli, Jaki Liebezeit and Holger Czukay.
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