The first thing I thought of when I heard this album of Latin-style Kraftwerk covers was the forgotten novelty band Dread Zeppelin. Fronted by the profoundly obese Tortelvis, Dread Zeppelin had all the moronic college kids laughing along to their reggaeized Zeppelin-meets-Elvis shtick way back in 1990. (I can't front: I was one of them.) The formula for both Señor Coconut and Dread Zeppelin is simple: just take an overexposed batch of songs and graft them onto an exotic and seemingly incompatible genre. Instant novelty item.

And like the Fart-in-a-Can, the "Damn Pigeons" fake shit-encrusted baseball hat, and Grandma's First Dildo, this sort of Emperor Norton kitsch would, if there were any justice, be sold at Spencer Gifts. It's utterly disposable trash without a shred of artistic merit, an album that winks cheekily while nudging ribs, dying to impress with its cleverness. For me to encourage the purchase of El Baile Aleman when there's so much great music that will never be heard is downright irresponsible. A crime, even.

But that's exactly what I'm going to do. Because, goddammit, this album is entertaining.

Señor Coconut is actually German electronic music prankster Uwe Schmidt, better known as Atom Heart. Schmidt is reportedly hiding from the fascist German music underground in sunny South America (Santiago, Chile to be exact), much as his fellow countryman Adolph Eichmann once hid from the Nuremberg prosecutors. While taking in the local culture, Schmidt was struck with a vision: why not take the songs of Florian Schneider and Ralf Hütter and jazz them up to sound like they were performed by Ricky Ricardo's orchestra?

It's not hard to come up with some arguments against the idea, but fortunately, Schmidt made some good decisions along the way. The first was choosing to pay homage to Kraftwerk. Their pioneering use of synthesizers, and their role in helping to define machine music is undebatable-- they were great songwriters who created some fantastically catchy melodies. And their stated affection for the Beach Boys really shows when you strip songs like "Autobahn" and "The Robots" from their vocoder'd voicings; hearing these songs on El Baile Aleman as sung by Argenis Brito and Jorge Gonzalez reveals just how strong the kraft of the music really was. Even without the cheese.

Schmidt's second masterstroke was in selecting the record's instrumentation. The bulk of the musical background is clattering, danceable Latin percussion, a production decision that translates the original synthesizer arrangements perfectly. The instrumental melodies are primarily handled by vibraphone, and the sound is fleshed out with cowbells, fish, bongos, congas, and the occasional horn or accordion accent. It's a tasty rhythmic stew that plays up the groove and keeps the party moving, a must for any novelty record.

Then there's the fine song selection. Schmidt wisely favors the bigger hits with the most distinctive melodies: "Showroom Dummies," "Trans-Europe Express," "Neon Lights," and "Tour de France" are all highlights. The puzzling exclusion of "The Model" is a bit of a bummer, partly because it's so catchy and would fit in well, but mostly because it would have been the fifth version of the song I own (in addition to Kraftwerk's original, there's the punishing take by Big Black, one by oddball Resident Snakefinger, and a gorgeous chamber translation by the Balanescu Quartet). But still, despite the absence of "The Model" and the base nature of this project, I have to doff my sombrero to Señor Coconut for creating such a fun little diversion: Felicitaciones, Señor Coconut, para un trabajo hecho bien.

-Mark Richard-San