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"Also, Jerobeam son of Nebat rebelled against the king. (...) Now Jerobeam was a man of standing (...). Solomon tried to kill Jerobeam, but Jerobeam fled to Egypt (...). When all the Israelites heard that Jerobeam had returned, they sent and called him to the assembly and made him king over all Israel."
- (I Kings 11-12)
Born in Frankfurt am Main, merged with London, convinced for the time being citizen of Hamburg, Lennart A. Salomon shows class in naming his solo-case after the bear-toothed antipode of his prominent namesake. Does that not express what the premise for a creative continuity is all about? The steady opposition and distance towards one’s own work.

Salomon has been quite a celebrity for a while. As the master of ceremony of the electro-trio Sono he spends months inside the studio before infiltrating the charts and promenading through Europe’s music-channels. But then with Jerobeam Salomon shows not only what else he can do, but what else he needs: that is two good friends, a couple of drums, two cheap guitars, a handful of microphones and songs, songs, and more songs. Pop-hymns wrapped in rags with the nonchalance of bell-bottoms hanging in the air with the punch of detonating gas. At best within the walls of a seedy club, no holds barred, and no end in sight.
Despite this, or perhaps for this reason Salomon is not want of the necessary portion of cynical humor to go for the gold, as the grey eminence behind the hit-single of the Switzerland-Starsearch enterprise, as some kind of a sophisticated practical joke.

We really do appreciate the fact that Salomon still manages to find the time to imvue almost all of the Hazelwood-productions in recent years with his caleidoscopic touch, be it Mardi, Kool Ade Acid Test, or The Broken Beats. Where does the man find the time? Where?

A long time ago Jerobeam provoked the wrath of the prophets by erecting idols in the holy land. They had the shape of bulls. A skimpy three thousand years later Salomon proves himself to be almost as cantankerous, but his humor is a bit more subtle. Just shy of a dozen songs anyone of which could break into the charts had it been furnished with a few trinkets ( … and packed in chicken-breast and/ or roast beef as you wish) rumble through the groove with no shirt on.

The “Confidential Orchestra” Benny Greb and Thomas Merkel exercise themselves in understatement. Somebody is coming clean here for the entire guild. It pops, it funks, and it cries so cavalierly: It’s Pop-Propaganda! … and at the very end Lennart Salomon himself tells us over a confidential breakfast how to play the game with clichés. Now this is insolent!
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