No products in the cart.
Seven years after Parts of Life, Paul Kalkbrenner returns with a record that feels like an intimate wake-up call. The Essence is not the album of a producer chasing trends, but that of an artist who, faithful to his own method (as he admits in our interview, he doesn’t listen to other people’s music), creates a sonic world closed in on itself, almost autarkic. That withdrawal is precisely what makes Kalkbrenner’s strength: a techno written as much for the body as for suspended moments in headphones, in the car, or waiting for the subway.
The Essence is both an apartment record and a dancefloor record. Literally: a seventies Berlin atmosphere with tungsten lamps, vintage TVs, and walls steeped in patina. It’s techno that is anything but clinical, yet still carries Kalkbrenner’s meticulous precision — he prefers sculpting loops into obsession rather than giving in to accident.
Musically, we find what has always defined him: the tension between melodic clarity and Berlin austerity. This time, though, the album feels more stripped down, almost raw. No filler, as he insists. No useless decoration. Just pulse, melody, atmosphere. Far from the mythical Sky & Sand, closer instead to Altes Kamuffel on BPitch. And perhaps that’s why this record might turn timeless.
An album that is both warm and uncompromising, weaving together the ghosts of Depeche Mode with Stromae, the intimate with the collective, history with the present. Rather than a technical analysis or a definitive judgment, this review is a notebook of emotions, an attempt to capture what resonates in this brilliant album.
NINETY-TWO
Two seconds are enough to be certain: this is Paul Kalkbrenner, unfiltered and unmistakable. “Ninety-Two” belongs to that rare category of tracks able to move an entire crowd, to spark euphoria or suspend time itself. The vocal acts like a time capsule, pulling us straight back into the ’90s, when rave promised pure joy and release. As an opener, it doesn’t disappoint — it immediately sets the tone of the album: luminous, unifying, and announcing a journey that will be as collective as it is intimate.
DIE STÜBERNITZE
“Die Stübernitze” is raw emotion. You can picture Paul on stage, brow furrowed, eyes half-closed, drifting open and shut with the beat, swaying a few steps left, then right. Each movement radiates an inner intensity we’ll never fully decode. That ambiguity is the track’s power: it leaves interpretation open. For some, it will trigger a precise memory; for others, it will become the soundtrack of a fragile present, a fleeting encounter, a trace of melancholy. A piece that doesn’t impose itself but tells a different story to each listener.
One thing is certain: it isn’t long enough.
CODY 3000
“Cody 3000” is cut for the club. The one that hits a little harder than the rest, without losing Kalkbrenner’s melodic patina. Here, there’s no need to overanalyze: this is a track that lives in the moment, stands on its own, and simply exists to make you dance.
DREAMING ON
With “Dreaming On,” the Depeche Mode homage, we are thrown straight into the eighties. The construction is flawless, impeccable. It may not be the album’s peak (at least for us), but the track works — it sticks in your memory and refuses to leave, proof of its melodic efficiency.
QUE CE SOIT CLAIR (feat. Stromae)
“Que Ce Soit Clair,” on the other hand, is impossible to overlook. From the first bars, you can picture the crowd singing along, arms in the air, eyes meeting friends and strangers alike. It’s the kind of track that comes alive in concert, through the perfect blend of voice and performance. The contrast is striking: a Belgian singing in French over Berlin techno. Stromae’s voice, austere and taut, mirrors the gravity of Berlin’s sound, while the lyrics brush against love and human connection. The lighter, more radiant melody opens up space to breathe. A bridge between two cultures, two sensibilities — and proof that Kalkbrenner still knows how to surprise.
DIE TROMPETEN VON BERLIN
“Die Trompeten Von Berlin” closes the album like the final scene of a film. The track opens in near-anxious tones, echoing the soundtracks of old American horror films. Then the trumpet emerges, cracked and worn, like a signal of the end. The melody unfolds in chiaroscuro, a broken sound that declares it is over, the curtain falling. One YouTube comment says it all: “Wenn man Berlin mit einem Song beschreiben müsste.” And it’s true — or at least it feels that way. This track resonates like a sonic portrait, a fractured postcard of the German capital.