This article is based on this Dutch article of Martijn Benders
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**The Sound of the Merry Woodcutters: From Shamanic Call to Musical Schnitzel**
Last night, in the late hours, I listened to hundreds of versions of the song Die Lustigen Holzhackerbuam on YouTube.
I was astonished once again by how utterly unimaginative most interpretations are. This song has existed for nearly a century, and yet almost every version sounds exactly the same. Occasionally, a yodeling bulldozer like Franzl Lang is dragged into the fray—a man who seemingly exists in a state of perpetual jaw cramp, producing sounds referred to as “yodeling” that, in reality, more resemble a whale secretly swallowing a harmonica.
It is truly fascinating how a song with such immense possibilities has been spun into a cocoon of unchanging mediocrity over the decades. Where has the joy of playing gone? Where is the creative interpretation? Even the average village orchestra dares to invoke more enthusiasm in their melodies than this collection of Austrian wood-stump enthusiasts.
This is nothing short of cultural appropriation because Lang is not a Tyrolean Austrian by any means; he’s merely a rotund Bavarian from Munich. Where are the outraged letters from Innsbruck? The protest marches through the streets of Kufstein? This should be the moment for Tyrolean patriots to rise up and demand the return of their sacred yodel to its rightful heirs—not as a stale knockoff exuding fondue energy, but as the wild, refined art form it once was!
Alright, I discussed all this with Kroes. Many Dutch people associate “knaben” with breasts, but in German, it means “boys”. So Die Lustigen Holzhackerknaben—a near-perfect piece for Dieter’s debut album, where softness and sensuality play a central role.
Honestly, I played 100 variations of this song, and almost all of them sounded identical and unimaginative. In 100 years—one hundred years!—not a single musician has thought to create a grandiose country version of it? Instead, they drag a whale onto the stage that appears to have swallowed a harmonica?
Folks, it is truly outrageous that a song with such potential is continually reduced to a sort of musical schnitzel: pounded flat, over-breaded, and entirely devoid of taste or innovation. Has no one ever considered running Die Lustigen Holzhackerbuam through a blues filter, mixing it with a sweat-dripping gospel choir, or—just throwing it out there—adding an avant-garde theremin voice?
What does this say about us, about humanity, and the respect we offer genuine Tyrolean traditions?
Because the origins of yodeling are by no means an innocent, folkloristic pastime but rather a shamanic tradition, a sonic bridge between human, nature, and the mystical. It is an ancient call, an echo of the soul that reverberates through valleys and mountains—not to entertain, but to connect.
In the pre-industrial Alpine world, yodeling served a sacred purpose. It wasn’t a song for tourists or beer halls; it was a magical act, a sound that momentarily dissolved the boundaries between the human realm and nature. Yodeling was a way to establish contact with Thule—that mythical realm considered the source of wisdom and life—and with the animals, particularly the cows, which were not merely livestock but partners in a spiritual ecosystem.
This call echoing across alpine meadows, this vibrating sound that allowed a cow to recognize her calf or a herder to soothe his flock, was an act of invocation. It was more than mere communication; it was contact. It was a moment when humans let go of their small, everyday selves and allowed something greater, something cosmically familiar, to speak. In that sense, yodeling was an ancient form of shamanism, a sound that brought order to the chaos of the world and reminded us of the rhythm of the universe.
Martinus Benders, 18-01-2025