 | |
| |
 |
|
Review of the London Arena concert, 16th May 2002 (Which I'm proud to say I attended!) From Kerrang, June 1 2002:
RAMMSTEIN
FLAME ON!
RAMMSTEIN LIGHT UP LONDON AT BIGGEST UK SHOW TO DATE
"FOUR YEARS ago, on a grisly Wednesday night in November, Rammstein played their first UK gig at the Finsbury Park Powerhaus. A dimly-lit pub-cum venue in one of the less salubrious parts of North London, it was a far cry from the arenas the sextet were used to playing back in Germany. Not that Rammstein were going to let such trivialities as a tiny stage and low roof stand in the way of their Poker-faced Sturm und drang, though.
In front of an audience that numbered no more than 200, Rammstein pulled out all the stops: The explosions, the flaming suits, the splurting dildoes. The audience - a mixture of Goths, Euro-metal fans and the merely curious - had doubtless seen this sort of thing before. It's just unlikely that they had seen it - or, in the case of the pyrotechnics, felt it - at such close quarters. It'd be a stretch to say that nobody went home disappointed. No-one, however, went home unscorched.
In the four years since that Powerhaus show, Rammstein haven't changed a great deal. They're still setting themselves on fire and strapping on prosthetic knobs. They're just doing it in front of more people. The London arena, a huge, soulless shed that looks like it's been borrowed from some down-on-their-luck Eastern Bloc state, located in the shadow of Canary Wharf, might only be a few miles across the capital from Finsbury Park, but it's a world away in real terms. This is the first time Rammstein can really show what they're capable of when they've got the space to spread their wings.
And by Christ, do they spread their wings. Over the course of their 90-minute set, the band will, among other things, don flaming helmets, shoot fireworks over the heads of the audience and set their singer on fire. It's safe to say that a large percentage of the crowd are here to see the visuals as much as they are to hear the songs.
The downside of this, of course, is that the support bands are comparatively inconsequential. Raging Speedhorn and American Head Charge - tonight's twin aperitifs - couldn't be more different. Where Speedhorn are crop-haired oiks with guitars cranked to 12. Head Charge are more menacing, more theatrical, more - yes - American. Speedhorn are street thugs who don't give a f**k whether the industro-goth-metal massive likes them; Head Charge are an abject lesson in studied chaos who most definitely do. Speedhorn race around the stage as if imaginary Pitbulls were snapping at their backsides; Head Charge merely stalk it. Speedhorn make a noise like a sack of Spanners hitting the ground at 100mph; head Charge sound like Ministry's offcuts buffer-up for the nu-metal generation. Both get an equally moderate reception from the Rammstein fans in the rapidly filling hall, but Raging Speedhorn - thanks largely to their balls-out lunacy - win it on points.
But this is unequivocally the headliners' show. A decade into their career, and Rammstein remain the oddest rockstars around. In a few days time, their single 'Ich Will' will gatecrash the UK Top 30; an impressive effort considering the sheer incompatibility between a band of German speaking 30-somethings and the British record buying public. But it's here, onstage, bather in the light of six UFO-shaped pods hanging from the ceiling, that Rammstein works best. On record, the likes of 'Links 2-3-4', 'Rein Raus' and 'Du Hast' - all aired tonight, all virtually identical to their studio counterparts - are brusque and stentorian; metal machine music that marches to the beat of a military heart. With the added benefit of, say, a trio of guitars that spurt out 20-foot long jets of flame, they're turned into the sort of bombastic, all encompassing arena anthems, that Kiss would sell their back catalogue for. The fact that they're sung entirely and unshamely in German - not now, or ever, The international Language of Rock 'N' Roll - only deepens the sense of glorious ridiculousness.
It's impossible to accuse Rammstein of not having a sense of humour. You wouldn't get, say, Scott Stapp of Creed sodomising his bespectacled keyboard player during a song called 'Buch Dich' (Translation: 'Big Dick'). Similarly, the sight of Till Lindermann - the man with the strap on - goose-stepping sternly across the stage in boots that shoots out waterfalls of sparks indicates a man not unaware of his band's earnest reputation. And Lindermann's Legendary coat, unveiled during 'Rammstein' itself, was, is and always will be nothing short of f**king impressive.
Ultimately, though, it's the spectacle rather than just the songs that has drawn people here. And, as 10 000 people gorge themselves stupid on the columns of flame that appear on the stage as the band prepare to take their bows, that spectacle couldn't be in better hands right now."
DAVE EVERLY
COMMENTS ON ARTICLE:
Firstly, 'Buch Dich' does NOT translate into 'big dick' like the article suggests, but 'Bend down'. RSH and AHC did not receive a moderate reception. They got booed and had bottled chucked at them. A singer of RSH shouting 'Lick my ball sac' to the crowd (I know, I was there!) The article says that Rammstein's songs are sung 'Entirely in German' is wrong, there are a few exceptions, like 'Stripped' which the band actually performed there, which is in English. 'KKKK' is the rating Kerrang gave it. This means 4 out of 5.
PICTURES ACCOMPANYING THE ARTICLE:
(Click each thumbnail to open up the large picture. Right click the pictures and then select 'Save Picture As' to save it to your desktop.)
| ||
