GÖRL
Dark Silver Moon Light
Grönland Records
In and of himself Robert Görl should need little introduction to readers of this site as one of the principal creators of EBM, but his first solo LP in decades, created in tandem with minimal wave DJ/producer Sylvie Marks (also involved in the completion of Nur Noch Einer, the DAF LP released after Gabi Delgado’s death), does need some context. Making a lot out of a little has always been one of Görl’s unique strengths, both in DAF and his own solo work; one need only skim his often overlooked 1984 solo effort Night Full Of Tension to find classic disco, torch songs, and synthesized psychedelic funk and tropicalia (which, like contemporary work by the Cabs across the Channel, oddly foreshadows the broader pop world’s embrace of acid house), all built from an exceptionally stripped down toolkit. While plenty of callbacks to Görl’s past can be found in Dark Silver Moon Light, it’s a forlorn but dignified sadness which gives it its character.
The quiet frailty which marks much of Dark Silver Moon Lightis nothing new for Görl; it’s been woven into DAF albums since they first moved away from their gnarled and clattering Neue Deutsche Welle roots. But there’s a pathos to the record, detectable from the tinkling ice water synth of opener “Irgendwann ist jetzt” to the murky burbles and dark ambience of closer “Es ist nie zu spät” which ends up being far more sustained than any earlier moments of melancholy. The wounded tone of Görl’s voice itself, cracked by experience and emotion, creates much of that mood, with his glide through the gothic mist of “Don’t Stay At Home” reading like late 80s Bryan Ferry dropping in to score a Michael Mann joint. The base programming of the title track feels not unlike any number of previous Görl pieces (its antiseptic sterility even connoting how the likes of The Klinik would carry on elements of DAF’s work), but the ghostly croon laid atop feels like something new.
This isn’t to say that Dark Silver Moon Light is nothing but gloomy reverie. Whence, in 2026, might we trace the origin of the pensive arpeggio of “So wie Du bist”, which builds drama in the most minimal of ways by intermittently being buoyed by bass and left to flutter on its own? A recasting of Görl’s 1980s work? His Berlin School synthesis precursors (or their present day revivalists)? Latter day producers ranging from Karger Traum to synthwave artists deeply indebted to Görl, whether they know it or not? There’s no such ambiguity about “Falscher Ton” and “Wir brechen aus”, whose grimily flanged bass and rolling drum fills ably recreate whichever Alles Is Gut or Gold Und Liebe cut you’d care to name. “Spiel Mit Mir” sounds like Marks and Görl exploring a shared love for sprained minimal wave (though again, whether it’s the original make or recent reprises thereof is unclear).
It seems odd to be speaking of a record with such a mournful tone as a rebirth, but the sonic links to Görl’s influences and influence, as well as his own legendary extant work, offer a solid platform upon which he and Marks sculpt these icy but affecting pieces. Such a large amount of what we listen to would not exist without Robert Görl; even in a more morose cast it’s heartening to know that he hasn’t stopped listening, either.
