Augn are back. Have to be. After all, people aren't going to stop talking rubbish, even though soon it’ll be illegal to say anything at all. On their double album “Gerstenkorn/Fata Morgana”, the “fun guerrillas of humourless humour in the para-public filter bubble” (Get your drugs from Springer, lads!) are now taking things to the next level. Sixteen songs – the beats as dull as time itself, the lyrics a portrait of an average German family gathering. But without the countenance. Here, people don't just nod along like morons when the fascist grandpa starts ranting again or the leather-skinned aunt raves about her lover from Mombasa. Here, someone says something when the hipster cousin celebrates multiculturalism but prefers to lock his Prius from the inside at Hermannplatz. The uncle who gets drunk once a year on Schinkenstraße is mercilessly confronted about finding the  hordes of tourists in front of his flat in Friedrichshain a bit difficult. At least someone speaks up when the artist's son who refuses to wear a mask lusts after financial aid after Corona or when test-tube pop stars take away their teen daughter's pocket money. Great, it was so cosy a moment ago... and then they come back, these Augn, and chop away with an axe at the tranquil idyll of German stupidity. But if we're honest... let's be clear... someone has to... it's high time... what is this going to lead to... things can't go on like this... Or can they?