Long ago, or so it feels now, when I was living as an art student in Leeds there was nothing that I’d like better than to get myself down to the Brudenell Social Club and take in some anti-folk. Aaah, the wonderful anti-folksters that I was lucky enough to see perform in front of that glittery back wall! Moldy peach Kimya Dawson was always a thrill, as was Jeffrey Lewis and his wonderful ‘lo-fi music videos’. Diane Cluck would send us to sleep, but -ultimate favourites- Dufus would always set our hearts on fire again.
And then there was the lovely Herman Dune. Herman Dune stole the hearts of my friends and I on our first encounter with them at the Brudenell. It was probably their laid back indie-pop folk sound, conjuring up summer trips and friendly gatherings. Then again, it could have been their rather endearing manner, as the two lanky, bushy bearded brothers supported each other’s nasal voices with skilled guitar plucking whilst the drummer clip clopped along behind. Or maybe it was the playing-two-recorders-at-once technique during Red Blue Eyes.
Whatever it was, Herman Dune very soon became our sing-along soundtrack to happy summers and laid back bonding sessions. That’s the kind of music that Herman Dune make; joyous little ditties that seemingly promote togetherness and understanding. We’d listen to ‘Not On Top’, ‘Jackson Heights’ and ‘Mas Cambios’ on rotation. Though there were songs of loss and nostalgia, it was all a bit fluffy and rainbow coloured really.
As my life changed from the creative wonderland that was art-studentdom and became the decidedly less fluffy affair that comes with the 9-5 existence, I had all but forgotten about Herman Dune. I let their albums Giant (2006) and 123 Apple Tree (2008) completely pass me by. Even more crucially, I had no idea that Andre Herman Dune had left the band! This fact only became apparent as I stared down at Herman Dune’s new album sleeve…featuring only David-Ivar Herman Dune and Néman Herman Dune looking slightly lonely and incomplete.
Wikipedia imparts this information; “On December 13th, 2006, André Herman Düne played his last show with the band, and subsequently changed his name to Stanley Brinks.”
“Herman Dune lost the two dots on their “U” the day Andre Herman Dune left the band after the recording of the album GIANT” the band’s myspace page tells me. For a band I had once held so dear, this actually feels heartbreaking. With rumours of ‘artistic tension’ causing the split, I am actually dubious about popping the CD into my laptop in case what I hear isn’t Herman Dune at all but something that will shatter all my precious memories of the band.
But the truth is, I needn’t have worried. ‘Next Year in Zion’ is what we’ve come to expect from Herman Dune; lovely indie folk pop. Sure, it’s all gone a bit more cutesy pie – the departed Andre always seemed to be the more intellectual/introverted/cynical brother. With him out of the picture, David-Ivar is free to sing about his ‘baby’ and well, take a look at this. Hmm, perhaps that’s a bit unfair, because these songs are definitely full of substance and there are even a few sad ditties (‘My home is nowhere without you’). Still, with the harmonized lady singing and a good dose of schmaltz ( ‘My best kiss’ and ‘Baby baby you’re my baby’) there’s no denying that David-Ivar enjoys constructing his pop around romantic themes.
With this album, the nostalgic in me longs for a few of Andre’s more pained songs, or even just to hear the two brothers nasal harmonies once more. But hey, that’s just my being an old stick in the mud looking back to what once was. Such nostalgia shouldn’t detract from this album – which is great, by the way. I’m so glad that Herman Dune, in whatever form they now take, are back in my life simply because they craft perfect sing-along pop. Pop that reminds us of good times and sunny days. And we all need a bit of that, I’m sure. Bring on the fluffy rainbows!
