Emma Silvers, my former colleague at the sadly defunct Bay Guardian, recently interviewed her hero Liz Phair. It had me thinking about what I’d do if I ever met a celebrity I worshipped to that degree. I’d like to think I’d shy away from flattery; musicians probably meet so many fans that fawning has no meaning. I’d love to engage Paul McCartney in a chat about Brian Wilson or ’60s girl groups or something I know he’d like. Prince, famously frosty, is someone I’d rather not meet. But if I ever met Wolfgang Voigt I’d have to pull out all the stops not to lose my shit.
Wolfgang Voigt is the mastermind of the Gas project, which has released six albums and two EPs of ambient techno since 1996. The most recent six of these, including this year’s Rausch, are united by their forest theme, and each Gas album is adorned with a thick tangle of leaves and branches stamped with the Gas name. The impetus for the project was Voigt’s youthful acid trips in the Königsforst of Cologne, Germany, and indeed Voigt builds most of his pieces from samples of German classical music to tie the project into the country’s ecological history.
Voigt has ADHD and was sensitive to sound as a kid. Likewise, I was diagnosed with sensory processing disorder at an early age and didn’t listen to music until I was 12. My parents say that when I was a baby even a whisper of Mozart would render me catatonic for weeks, though I don’t remember that. Nonetheless, music was scary to me. Then I got a crush on O-Zone, the Romanian boy band (yes, the “Numa Numa” guys). Finally my dad played me the Beatles canon, and I started to dip a toe into a medium I was quickly consuming with rapacious hunger.
I wonder if the same chain reaction went off in my brain and Voigt’s that led us to seek the solitude of the forest, and the exploratory potential of drugs, as therapy. Voigt liked acid. I like weed. One of my favorite things to do when I’m bored is light a bowl and venture off into a part of San Francisco I’ve never explored before, usually with an ambient soundtrack. I’ve always had a lust for exploration, which I think owes to the fact that I never had much freedom as a kid to wander around, what with my sensory issues and the fact that I was homeschooled.
This might seem cliché to say, but I feel a strong connection to Voigt that surpasses fandom. The only other artist that seems so relevant to my life is Phil Elverum, for many of the same reasons; his Microphones and Mount Eerie records brim with the wistfulness of a kid who remembers hearing the blaring of foghorns from miles away and wondering about all there is to explore in this infinite universe. I fear few things more than succumbing to the urge to wander off in the woods and start walking until I die, and I hear that call in Voigt’s music and Elverum’s.
I also love Voigt because he’s a fiercely consistent artist, and I can’t think of any artist with a higher ratio of albums I return to regularly. With the exception of his apocryphal self-titled album from 1996, I find myself returning to each of his albums a few times a year. Zauberberg captures the unease of traveling somewhere familiar better than any other album I’ve heard. Königsforst is for days drenched in sunlight. Pop is one of the best of all ambient albums, ideal for falling asleep or simply zoning out. Narkopop is a thick morass, hostile territory for humans.
Voigt just released a new Gas album, Rausch. I like it a lot. I’ve reviewed it, but I think I have adventures to come with this album that will change the way I see it. The first time I listened to it I was walking around in the fog on Mount Sutro near my house. I’ve been obsessed with Mount Sutro lately; I thought for years its green expanse was private property before discovering a road that led into its depths, behind the vast UCSF medical school that girdles the hillside. It was the perfect place, I thought, to listen to this new album from this great artist.
As I trudged deeper into the woods, I was disappointed to find I’d explored most of Mount Sutro already. As I turned onto trails I’d never taken before, I wandered past familiar landmarks or was dumped unceremoniously on roads; meanwhile the album trudged deeper and deeper into unfamiliar territory. I was disappointed I’d blown my first adventure with the album, and even now I wonder if I wouldn’t like it more if I’d been in a forest I knew less well — perhaps McLaren Park deep in the south side of the city, whose depths I haven’t even begun to explore.
The album ended. I climbed out of the woods, put something else on and made my way toward the bus. Then, to my left, I spied a fog-choked trail going into a patch of woods I’d never paid much notice. These were the Laguna Honda woods. I didn’t know there were trails going through it. I have a new place to explore. There’s always more to know in the world, and Wolfgang Voigt’s music reminds me of just how comforting and terrifying that fact truly is.
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