Cello, poetry and a famous voice — Klaus Schulze’s most unusual space odyssey. Dune is one of the most distinctive albums in Schulze’s vast catalogue, the record where the German electronic pioneer opened his cosmic soundscapes to two outside voices: the cello of Wolfgang Tiepold and, on its second side, the singing of Arthur Brown. Named for Frank Herbert’s science-fiction saga, it sets aside the driving sequencers of his mid-seventies work for something more subdued and quasi-classical.

The short version

Klaus Schulze’s eleventh album, recorded in spring 1979 and released that August on the Brain label; two side-long pieces in its original form, with a live bonus track added on later reissues. Schulze handles the electronics and wrote the album’s poem, joined by cellist Wolfgang Tiepold throughout and by singer Arthur Brown on the second track. Named after Frank Herbert’s novel Dune, it is a more restrained, quasi-classical work than his sequencer-driven mid-seventies albums, and one of the most distinctive records in his catalogue, notable above all for its cello and guest vocals.

Two guest voices

By 1979 Klaus Schulze had recorded a long run of solo electronic albums, and Dune stands out for opening that world to collaborators. The cellist Wolfgang Tiepold, who had appeared on the previous album, returns here throughout, his strings adding a warmth, emotion and classical colour that pure electronics alone could not provide. The bigger surprise comes on the second side, where the pioneering British singer Arthur Brown, long famous from The Crazy World of Arthur Brown, half-sings and half-recites a long poem written in English by Schulze. The album takes its name and imagery from Frank Herbert’s science-fiction saga, with one piece even carrying the working title Arrakis, after the novel’s desert planet. Together the cello and voice make Dune a real departure, a Schulze album shaped as much by its guests as by its synthesizers.

The sound

Atmospheric, quasi-classical electronic music, more subdued and less sequencer-driven than Schulze’s classic mid-seventies work. The endlessly pulsing sequences of albums like Body Love are largely set aside here in favour of slower, more textural writing, with layered synthesizers, theremin-like croons and strange, glassy timbres set against Wolfgang Tiepold’s mournful, staccato cello. The result is haunting and ethereal, closer at times to a film score than to dance-floor electronics, and it rewards close, focused listening rather than background play. The second side shifts gears into a pulsing, almost danceable groove, its percolating synths and gentle electronic percussion carrying Arthur Brown’s spoken-sung poetry. It is an ambitious, unusual record, one that trades some of Schulze’s hypnotic momentum for a more composed, chamber-like sense of atmosphere.

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The songs

The album is built around two side-long pieces. The title track Dune is harsh and avant-garde, a drifting, haunting soundscape of layered synthesizers, theremin-like tones and unusual textures, anchored by Wolfgang Tiepold’s cello, which lends a steady, emotional lead the electronics might otherwise lack; it could easily serve as an eerie film score. Shadows of Ignorance is the more talked-about half, a pulsing, subtly progressive and almost danceable groove over which Arthur Brown delivers Schulze’s long, cosmic poem, half-sung and half-chanted, its imagery drawn from dreams, stars and destiny, before the piece dissolves into a wordless electronic chorus. Later reissues add the live bonus Le Mans, a further long excursion recorded in concert in 1979.

Reception and legacy

Dune is one of Schulze’s more divisive albums, admired for its ambition and atmosphere but debated for its choices. Many listeners single out Wolfgang Tiepold’s cello as the album’s great strength, praising the warmth and focus it brings, and find the title track a haunting, immersive success. Opinion splits sharply over Arthur Brown’s contribution: some hear it as a bold, spellbinding experiment, others as a strange, distracting turn from an artist who rarely needed a human voice at all. Either way, the album’s more subdued, quasi-classical approach sets it apart from the sequencer-driven records around it. For all the debate, it remains a fascinating, distinctive entry in Schulze’s catalogue and a favourite of many who value his more experimental side.

The verdict

A distinctive, divisive album for the more adventurous Schulze listener — subdued, quasi-classical and atmospheric, and unusual for its cello and guest vocals. Come to it for Wolfgang Tiepold’s cello, the haunting title-track soundscape and the sheer ambition of the thing, rather than for the pulsing sequencers of his classic period. Play the title track, and hear Shadows of Ignorance and make up your own mind about the vocals. Then Body Love for the sequencer-driven Schulze, Cyborg for his early drones, and Tangerine Dream for a kindred cosmic voice. An ambitious, one-of-a-kind detour — and a rewarding one for open ears.

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