Kraftwerk (Carling Apollo Manchester, 17th March 2004)

LIVE REVIEW

KRAFTWERK – Carling Apollo, Manchester

Wednesday 17th March, 2004

Twelve years between albums. That’s longer than Elastica, and the Stone Roses by at least seven years. As we all know, The Menace and Second Coming were about as genius as a joke in a BBC sitcom, so what chance did Kraftwerk’s Tour de France Soundtracks have? Before last year’s offering, 1991’s The Mix didn’t exactly glue itself onto listener’s stereos, and by the time Soundtracks freewheeled into town last autumn, most music hacks had come to look upon Kraftwerk as most people look upon Paul McCartney – a spent force; legendary once but declining in relevance with each new release.

But hey, when a legend jets in, you wanna check ‘em out, ‘cos a ticket stub in the wallet is worth 3 illegal downloads on the i-pod, right kids? No, I don’t have a clue what that means either, but the argument that Kraftwerk have misplaced their fingers from the pulse of popular culture may ring true with many younger music fans. They are everything rock fans should hate. They dress in suits. They perform not with guitar and drum, but with computer and keyboard. They speak with Germanic accent and not regional American twang. Theirs is not whisky-soaked rock ‘n’ roll, but more suited to the amyl-atmosphere of the superclub. Most damning of all, perhaps, is the air of pretension that has done for many a musical behemoth during one of the frequent periods of faux-revolution that periodically thunders in from Detroit, Leighton Buzzard or anywhere else without a decent hairdressers.

Let’s look at the facts. They are reclusive to the point of medical interest. Not only is an interview with the band (Well, Ralf Hütter and Florian Schneider, the founding members and autocrats) extremely rare and fortunate, but even their record label tend to view them like you or I would view goblins and ghouls – often talked about, rarely seen and a potential heart-attack when you finally do see them in the flesh. From their anonymous studio, Kling Klang, in the heart of Dusseldorf, Kraftwerk have created not just electronica, but some of the most influential music of all time, yet shun the limelight and refer to themselves as ‘technicians’ rather than musicians. All this game-playing and mystery does not endear them to the UK or, unsurprisingly, US music press or public. Kooky continentals, Hasselhoff loving freaks…right?

Well, wrong, actually. Granted, the Apollo, Manchester isn’t exactly Yankee Stadium in terms of capacity, but this gig has been sold out for weeks. Not all fat forty year olds with greying ponytails in the crowd. A grand old theatre for a grand old band. They may not be totally relevant, they may not be trendy, but dammit, they’re popular. No support act – there’s nobody like them at the moment, and certainly nobody big enough to take the job on. The audience is here to worship a band that hasn’t toured properly in over a decade. The future they predicted, full of travel, glamour, computers and nuclear power, has finally caught up with them. Will Kraftwerk look at home, or will they retreat, disappointed, back to Kling Klang?

Happily, for both band and audience, Kraftwerk have always appreciated their square peg in round hole status, and right from opener ‘Man Machine’ seem content to riff on the theme of naïve futurism. The Kandinsky image of red, black and white might be cool in indie circles, but Kraftwerk’s visual show takes it back by ten or fifteen years. The lyrics of ‘Man Machine’ appear behind them, but in a basic text typeface straight from a ZX Spectrum. The four members of the group, Hutter, Schneider, Fritz Hilpert and Henning Schmitz stand impassively beneath the giant monitors which display their eclectic mix of modernity and nostalgia – the William Gibson-style dreamscape of ‘Expo 2000’ is directly followed by black and white footage of the Tour De France. But this is what should be expected of Kraftwerk. Someone once said that all great bands create their own world and by this process create devoted fans. Kraftwerk are one of these bands, and their concert is their own little world, where the visuals and the music are more important than how high the band can jump or how outrageous the bass player can be.

By contrast, Kraftwerk are almost anonymous standing behind their rostrums in their black suits and red shirts (Interpol, take note) save only to tap feet or for Hutter to sing camply for biggest hits ‘Autobahn’ and ‘The Model.’ In essence, Kraftwerk have achieved the future they tried so hard to create for themselves in the 1970’s and 80’s. They’re not a band anymore, not a group, but a spectacle. They are the ones behind the music and the visuals, but it could be anyone on stage if you are standing at the back of the hall.

Their first set draws to a close with the first electronica protest song, ‘Radioactivity’ and finally, ‘Trans Europe Express’. Forgotten subjects both – the latter went the way of British Rail while Greenham Common and Protect and Survive hang around the former like relics of the Cold War. No, they aren’t really pressing concerns now. No, they haven’t been rocked or funked up. But they do, and this is the benchmark of a live act, blow the roof off the sucker and the crowd are still cheering as the curtains close for the first time.

The second, briefer act is devoted to their 1980 album, Computer World. The apex of the gig comes between the first two songs of this section, which indicates both Kraftwerk’s inventiveness and playfulness. The straightforward lyrics of ‘Numbers’ (“One, two, three, four” etc) reach a critical mass and implode into ‘Computer World’ and in twelve foot high basic computer font read the lyrics “Interpol, Deutsche Bank, FBI and Scotland Yard, CIA, KGB, read the data and memory.” The goalposts may have shifted, but the sentiments are more apt now than when they were written. ‘Pocket Calculator’ follows ‘Homecomputer’ to bring the frivolous side of the band more into play.

That side reaches its zenith with the second encore, where the band disappears completely and is replaced by the fabled robots for ‘The Robots.’ Essentially, they are remote-controlled hydraulically powered museum pieces, having been around for almost thirty years in some form or another. Robotics is a hell of a lot more sophisticated nowadays and can do more than rotate. But this just adds to the charm. Kraftwerk composed the song from the point of view of the robots, not to claim they were themselves oppressed workers, but as a celebration of technology, and as the four robots swivel along to their song under the strobe lights and neon, they look a lot more human than some of the bands around today, and they are something to laugh along with, not at, just because they are relics of a future past.

The band finally arrive back on stage in green neon suits, performing two songs from their latest Soundtracks album, ‘Elektro Kardiogramm’ and ‘Aero Dynamik’, two solid and traditional Kraftwerk songs if not particularly mould breaking. But before they leave, one by one, they set in motion a reminder of their past, ‘Musique Non Stop’, a high tempo dance number from 1986 that should make Scissor Sisters and The Rapture hang their heads in shame. That four men in their fifties can make such youthful sounding music is a testament to their ill-fitting nature. The music carries on as Ralf Hütter finally takes his leave; “Goodnight, are there any good clubs in Manchester?” he says, and something in you believes he’d be right at home in the middle of the dance floor. Kraftwerk might be something of a niche act these days, but try telling that to the delirious punters at the Apollo, who are more than happy to be a blip on Kraftwerk’s newly discovered retro radar.

Chris Stanley