Augn - FATA MORGANA (2024)

Augn is back. It has to be. After all, people won't stop talking loads of shit, even though you won't be allowed to say anything any more soon. With the double album "Gerstenkorn/Fata Morgana", the "fun guerrilla of humourless humour of the para-public filter bubble" (stretch your drugs at Springer, guys!) is now igniting the next stage of escalation. 16 songs - the beats as dull as time, the lyrics the portrait of an average German family reunion. But without the composure. There's more than just borderline nodding when the fascist granddad is singing his aiwang again or the leather-skinned aunt is raving about her lover from Mombasa. Someone says something when the hipster cousin celebrates multiculturalism but prefers to lock the Prius on Hermannplatz from the inside. The uncle who lines Schinkenstraße once a year is mercilessly held up to the mirror when he finds the hordes of tourists in front of his condominium in Friedrichshain somehow difficult. Here, at least someone still opens their mouth when the artist's son with a mask certificate craves corona help or retort pop stars take the teenage daughter's pocket money. Great, it was just so cosy... and then they come back, these Augn, and take an axe to the tranquil idyll of German stupidity. But to be honest... let's be clear... someone has to... it's high time... where is this going... it can't go on like this... or can it?