If social stereotypes are to be believed, Berlin-based singer-songwriter Barbara Morgenstern is ostentatiously German. On record, she uses hybrid technology and a sense of recombinant culture to capture a pensive, transportive pirouette imbued with sweet yearning. And when seen live during the tour for her 2003 release, Nichts Muss, Morgenstern sat behind a laptop and an electric organ, clad all in black from toe to turtleneck. Huddled in a living room–like lounge in Dortmund (part of the Rhein-Ruhr region and near Morgenstern's childhood home), she delivered purring melodies, flitting percussion, and lyrics sung wholly in her native tongue. And, no, it wasn't just because of the locale.
Morgenstern represents a generation of German artists that—having survived the patchwork hedonism of the '90s—pulled back from commercial music's overbearing fullness to compose poignant, pointillist melodies that leave room to dream within their electronisch structures. In order to most sincerely convey her emotions and apprehensions, Morgenstern chooses to sing atop her glitch-pop in German, though some songs are flecked with English for the purpose of pop phrasing. This approach has led to collaborations with other German producers, including Pole, Readymade, and To Rococo Rot, and resulted in a yearlong international tour sponsored by the Goethe Institute.
This experience shows in Morgenstern's latest release, The Grass Is Always Greener, an album that for the most part eschews Morgenstern's trademark dovetailing organ and sequenced beats for more pastoral, conversational piano chords and brushed percussion. Hermetic but hopeful, it exhibits Morgenstern's dreamy reflections on her own heritage through the filter of dislocation.
