By: Almostred
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Robots - Photo by Almostred
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There is a very short list of bands that I would go out of my way to see anymore, and Kraftwerk is near the top of that list. An inexplicably routed three-date Midwestern warm-up for Coachella brought them to the Myth in Maplewood last weekend, a show I missed because of a prior obligation. Lucky for me, however, they were playing only slightly further east in Milwaukee, this time not at a converted shoe barn in a mall parking lot, but rather in a gorgeously renovated former Aerie ballroom with perfect sight lines and booming sound. Add to that one of the few remaining cultural advantages to crossing the border into ‘Sconnie, i.e. smoking delicious cigarettes in a club, and I had all the makings of a perfect evening hosted by a fundamental cornerstone of modern popular music.
I hit the road with my BFF for company; let’s call her “Cyd.” The six-hour drive was long and we pulled into town with barely enough time to freshen up (yes, that is what the kids are calling it these days) and grab a quick bite to eat. Hotel check-in was a frustrating experience, since the lobby was littered with confused Japanese hipsters with Brady Bunch haircuts, Hello Kitty DJ bags and retro American sneakers. Finding food wasn’t much easier, since dining options were somewhat limited in downtown Milwaukee on a Sunday night.
After receiving dubious directions from a deer-in-the-headlights desk clerk, we found our way to a vacant but open Applebee’s that obviously focused on the weekday lunch crowd. Our stoner server, Nathan, was amiable, but clueless, asking me first if I wanted to add chicken to my Teriyaki Chicken Bowl, and then excusing himself to the kitchen to identify the soup of the day, only to return again after forgetting it on the way back. Dude.
Cyd and I were tired, and we were cranky. We ate our Boneless Buffalo Chicken Wings in silence. We were at the point where pretty much anything the other person said was going to get on our nerves. And then three German guys sat down at the table next to us.
They were all 50ish, and dressed in a continental style you can’t find at Kohl’s. I didn’t need to hear their thick Teutonic accents to know that they weren’t from ‘round these here parts. Now, Kraftwerk is not the most photogenic group, with a revolving membership and anonymous persona that precludes easy identification. Based on coincidence, however, and my limited knowledge of the band, I assumed that they were a mix of members and associates and immediately began mad texting to friends back in Minneapolis.
(Note to Jenna: No, they did not order off the Senior Menu. Smart ass.)
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Almostred posed in front of the supposed members of Kraftwerk
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Questions flooded my brain: what does the Mensch Maschinen eat, exactly? Bourbon Street Steak, apparently, with French onion soup and baked potato, extra sour cream. One of my friends texted and told me to introduce myself and ask for autographs, but this was simply not my style. After bad experiences meeting David Thomas of Pere Ubu (jerk) and members of Killing Joke (stoned), I made a promise never to meet my idols, choosing instead to let my memories be defined by their artistic personas and my respect for the music itself. Let the mystery stand, I thought. But then…
Cyd is a tall, slender woman, possessed of a striking architecture that tends to attract and hold the male gaze. And apparently, Der Robeter were breast men. At least one of them abandoned all pretenses and was on a regular 7-second rotation during our meal: Plate…Cyd’s chest…Plate…Cyd’s chest. Cyd is used to this kind of attention and didn’t take offense, but it wasn’t the kind of behavior I expected from people to whom I had ascribed tremendous intellectual virtue. Shouldn’t they be ironically commenting on their confrontation with American consumer culture? Kraftwerk was in Applebee’s fercrissakes!
We took some surreptitious pictures and as we were heading outside, I half-jokingly dared Cyd to leave Kraftwerk with something to remember Milwaukee by. Daring Cyd to do anything, of course, is like daring someone at City Pages to write about hip-hop; it’s a foregone conclusion. Hesitating only for a moment, Cyd marched up to the outside window directly in front of their table and proceeded to display her “Showroom Dummies,” spring-break style, giving new meaning to the song “Boing Boom Tschak,” if you know what I mean.
Forks hung in mid-air. Time stood still. We ran fast. But more on this later…
You might not know Kraftwerk, but you’ve heard them. Krautrock, New Wave, Synthpop, Electro-Funk, Detroit Techno, Chicago House, Miami Bass. Make your way back through the historical strata of electronica and you’ll find yourself with Kraftwerk at square one. In short, kids, without Kraftwerk, your thumping warehouse parties would be soundtracked by James Blunt and the Mars Volta. Consider yourselves fortunate.
Kraftwerk expresses a uniquely German attitude towards the influence technology wields over a society shaped by industry and war, with music reflecting the sounds of that technology. Stretching back to World War I and Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, the German culture has been obsessed with the dehumanizing effect of a relentless technology that has outpaced the human senses, and the resulting loss of individuality at the expense of progress. For reference, check out Wikipedia or any episode of Sprockets from SNL in the ‘90s.
Founding member Florian Schneider was noticeably absent from this tour, leaving only Ralf Hutter from the original group plus three newish members, including one youngster in his 40s who would move rhythmically from time to time, ever so slightly, and then catch himself, returning to the expressionless, motionless stance of the others. Opening with “Man Machine,” Kraftwerk ran through a nearly two-hour set of pretty much everything you would ever want to hear. I’ve seen video from the ‘70s, when they were forced to invent their own drum machines and primitive synths to reproduce their sound for an audience. The stage was literally full of wiring and apparatus, leaving band members secondary to the ironic statement about technology being made onstage. Technology finally caught up with Kraftwerk though, leaving them on a bare stage in Milwaukee evenly spaced behind identical single keyboard and laptop racks. There was literally nothing beyond the sequencers and samplers, with the entire history of electronic music stored inside individual packages no larger than Gary Coleman.
Accompanied only by colored lights and a triptych of screens, Kraftwerk ran through their best-known work for a large crowd of oldsters in the know and obligated hipsters. The show was also, unfortunately, my most difficult game of “Spot the Black Person” since I saw Wayne Newton at Mystic Lake, which is regrettable, since so much of their music has informed non-white musical forms. A rousing cheer went up when they started “Autobahn,” an actual AM hit in truncated form that creeped me out as a 9-year-old when it appeared sandwiched between Starland Vocal Band and “Dancing Queen” on rural Minnesota radio in 1976. The themes of relentless technology and forward motion were most evident when “Autobahn,” “Tour de France” and “Trans-Europe Express” were played in somewhat close order, each accompanied by literal interpretations on the screens, i.e. cars for “Autobahn,” trains for “T-EE,” and bicycles for “TdF.”
Cyd had gone into the show Kraftwerk-ignorant, essentially an empty slate, but commented throughout how familiar the songs seemed – “Radio-activity”, “The Model”, “Computer Love,” “Home Computer”, “Neon Lights,” “Musique Non-Stop,” each of them a simple mid-tempo electronic beat flavored with repetitive synth patterns and monotone vocals. They were familiar, of course, because they occupied all the other musical forms she loved. Many of the younger audience members seemed confused, however, and actual dancing was minimal. There was a certain curiosity factor that reminded me of the crowd gathered to watch Willy Wonka come out of the chocolate factory, especially during the encore of “Robots,” when the group were represented on stage by animated mechanical… you guessed it, robots, the culmination of the dehumanizing themes of their music. But what followed was one of my most memorable concert experiences ever, and not for the usual reasons. As the curtains drew apart, I was able to watch the performance on the dozens of cell phone screens that had shot up in front of me. I stopped counting at 60, and that was only half the crowd. An unintended consequence, but I think Kraftwerk would have appreciated the irony.
Ultimately, it seemed as though some of the crowd were expecting something different, something more “entertaining.” I’ll be the first to admit that being the original doesn’t necessarily mean being the best. Many innovations follow a new technology, improving on the original template. I imagine for a lot of people seeing Kraftwerk was like going to a museum and seeing the fastest, most aerodynamic, forward-looking car from 1972. Groundbreaking in its day, for many people it served only as a reminder of how far we’ve come. There is no shame, however, in paying respect to an innovator past their prime. And Kraftwerk deserve our respect.
Meanwhile, back at Applebee’s…
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| Back at the hotel bar |
We took a lot of pictures that night, both at Applebee’s and at the hotel bar after the show where current members Fritz Hilpert and Henning Schmitz were identified for us by people who would know. I’ve spent a lot of time staring at those images and I still don’t know whether it was them at the restaurant or not. And I like this story the way it is, so maybe I don’t want to know. I’ve included some pics here and you can decide for yourself.
So it all boils down to this: either Cyd enacted some kind of transgressive performance art, breaking down barriers between the artist’s public and private personas, or she flashed three random German guys. Either way, somebody’s going back across the pond with a great story.
Legal restrictions compel Almostred to write under a pseudonym. His identity isn’t a big secret, but you don’t know him anyway. He used to write for HWTS under his own name, so you could figure it out with a little effort. Hint: “I think we’re alone now…” He is survived by a daughter who doesn’t appreciate his esoteric musical sensibilities and a bank account currently residing with his ex-wife. Contact him at almostredd@hotmail.com
Location Info:
The Rave / Eagles Club
Artist Info: Kraftwerk
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