Nicht nur seine eigenen Veröffentlichungen beweisen dies, auch die unzähligen Platten, an denen er als Musiker oder Produzent beteiligt war, boten ein Maß an Originalität, Innovation und Humor, das nicht zuletzt durch den universellen Dilettanten, wie sich Czukay selbst gern nannte, entstand!

Czukays Facettenreichtum und sein spontaner, situativer Zugang, der ihm beispielsweise in seinen vielumjubelten Zusammenarbeiten mit Can-Kollege Jaki Liebezeit, Jah Wobble und The Edge (Full Circle 1982, Snake Charmer 1983) viel Bewunderung einbrachte, zeigte den sympathischen Musiker als Dreh- und Angelpunkt einiger der wegweisendsten Schallplatten der Musikgeschichte des späten 20. Jahrhunderts – und dies nicht nur in Deutschland. Eurythmics, Brian Eno, Conny Plank, Phew, David Sylvian, S.Y.P.H. – die Liste der Kollaborationen ist lang, noch länger wäre die Aufzählung derer, die er mit seiner Kunst inspirierte. Damon Albarn etwa traf Czukay und fand durch ihn seine Idee von den Gorillaz. Doch das ist nur eine von unendlich vielen Anekdoten aus einem bewegten Leben.

Interessant an Czukays Schaffen war dabei die Bildhaftigkeit, die seine akustische Arbeit stets mit sich brachte. 1979, kurz nach der Auflösung von Can, mit denen er als Gründungsmitglied zwölf Studioalben veröffentlichte, erschien etwa »Movies«, sein zweites Soloalbum nach »Canaxis 5« (das er schon 1969 zu Beginn seiner musikalischen Karriere mit Rolf Dammers heimlich im Kölner Stockhausen-Studio aufgenommen hatte). In »Movies« zeigte sich konkreter denn je: Sein Verfahren, aus der Situation der Aufnahme heraus auch vermeintliche Sound-Unfälle in seine Stücke zu integrieren, etwa durch die Verwendung von zufällig gefundenen Radiowellen, schuf musikalische Assoziationsketten, die das sprunghaft Visuelle der Post-Moderne zu Klang brachten, wie man es sonst nur aus dem experimentellen Kino kannte. »Movies« war dabei auch eine Konsequenz aus der Affinität für Filmmusiken, die schon seit der »Soundtracks«-Compilation (1970) die Geschichte von Can begleitete. Hier manifestierte sich spätestens Holgers Status als Großmeister der analogen Schnitttechnik.

Holger Czukay verstarb am 5. September 2017 nur wenige Wochen nach dem Tod seiner Partnerin Ursa Major. Bis zuletzt lebte er inmitten seiner Instrumente in dem alten Kino in Weilerswist bei Köln, wo so viel Musikgeschichte geschrieben wurde.

By MALCOLM MOONEY

TO A WONDERFUL / WONDERFILLED MUSICIAN AND MAGICIAN ... THOU YEARS HAVE KEPT US FROM EACH OTHER PHYSICALLY, HIS MUSIC HIS BASS RINGS THROUGH MY DAYS AS A LYRICIST / SPOKENWORD " WORDSMITH" AND SINGER, I BELIEVE IT WOULD HAVE BEEN IMPOSSIBLE FOR CAN TO HAVE THE DRIVE THE PULSE THAT WAS CREATED FROM JAKI'S PROPULSION AND HOLGER'S STROKING AND INVENTIVE APPROACH TO A MUSIC THAT ARGUED WITH ITSELF, TO BECOME A PART OF THE THEN AND NOW; MUSIC OF TODAY AND POSSIBLY IT WILL LIVE LONGER THAN ANY OF THE MEMBERS OF CAN .

FOR ME, HIS DEATH HAS PLACED A FULL REST ON MY LIFE'S WORK: DETERMINED TO KEEP CREATING THE POETRY AND SONGS THAT WILL KEEP A SPIRIT OF THE MEMBERS OF CAN.
HE WILL BE REMEMBERED WITH LOVE AND AS A BASS PLAYERS PLAYER.
REMEMBER HIM FOR HE NEEDS TO BE REMEMBERED... LISTEN, PLAY AND ENJOY...LIFE IS PRECIOUS AND IT IS MORE LIKE A 45 RECORD THAN A LP.
BEST TO ALL,
MALCOLM MOONEY

By ROB YOUNG

Holger was found dead at his home, the former Can Studio in Weilerswist, yesterday, aged 79. He lost his wife U-She (Ursula Schüring) on 28 July. She had been ill and largely immobile for many years and he had been dedicating much of the last years caring for her.

There will be many obits and reminiscences in the next few days. Suffice to say here that Holger was the twinkling fire at the heart of Can, an imaginator of new sonic worlds, adapting the dry sophistry of the postwar avant garde music he studied under Stockhausen for use in an innovative pop context. A brilliant technician, he made audio gold from the murk of primitive equipment in Can's early days, while developing a hypnotically minimal bass style.

A true European, Holger salvaged wit, humour and artistic integrity out of a childhood that should have left him traumatised: uprooted as a toddler from Danzig at the outbreak of world war two, resettled in a bombed out Berlin. He was a laughing contrarian and artistic adventurer. More than the rest of his band mates, he retained a strong sense of theatre, goofing off like a dadaist. To some extent it was his trickster's desire to push against the grain in Can's later development that finally caused the group to finish as an active unit. From there he salvaged a new career as solo artist and catalyst for others, notably David Sylvian in the mid-80s.

When I first met him in the late 90s, his enthusiasm for the emerging minimal techno – he was collaborating with some of Cologne's Liquid Sky scenesters at the time - was infectious. His final years, living in the cleared-out shell of the old cinema at Weilerswist where so many classic Can albums were recorded, were a quiet coda to all that, focused on U-She and on obsessively reworking his own solo work. He was not really receiving visitors and increasingly shut out the world at the end, and my one regret was not being able to visit the old studio one last time.

Auf Wiedersehen Holger.

By DAVID STUBBS

It's sad that his last years were shrouded in sadness and exile from the music world, sad that there won't be an official day of mourning in Cologne today, sad that far more people don't know who he was but the world has lost one of the absolute greats today. Holger Czukay understood at a deep, mechanical level the workings of Stockhausen and musique concrète but also understood that Vanessa Paradis's "Joe Le Taxi" was, as he said, unimprovable.

With his upturned chin and twinkling gaze he always reminded me of Dali, both inflating and puncturing high art, expanding its possibilities while mocking the sense of remote, pop-less superiority exuded by its senior practitioners. A sampler before there was sampling, a proponent of world music long before the phrase was coined, he opened up giant vistas of possibility with tools as basic as short wave radio and tape. He made the world his musical instrument. His music, with its recognisable recurring motifs (those flurrying blasts of French horn), was all wide-eyed joy, cunning mischief, subversive whispers, ingenious plotting, Dadaist collage and a sublime funk derived from the aural cuisine of a hundred nations. RIP, voyager. An inspiration, utterly irreplaceable. Now let's head for the dancing spo

By DUNCAN FALOWELL

Laughing from the word go in that old Volkswagen of yours when you collected me from the Hotel Bristol Cologne 1971. Thanks for everything, & bless you, Holger xD.