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UK Tour Dates Reviews June/July

Rammstein – Docklands Arena, London 16-May-02
Kerrang – 01 June 2002

Rammstein light up London at biggest UK show to date.
KKKK

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 theur poker-faces 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 spurting dildoes. The audience – a mixture of Goths, Euro-metal fans and the merely curious – had doubtless 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 sown-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 the UK what they’re capable of when they’re 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, amongst 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 is, of course, 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 100 mph; Head Charge sound like Ministry’s offcuts buffed-up for the nu-metal generation. Both get an equally moderate reception from the Ramstein 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 rock stars around. In a few days time their new 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, on stage, bathed in the light of six UFO-shaped pods hanging from the ceiling, that Rammstein work 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 unashamedly 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 ‘Bück Dich’ (translation: ‘Big Dick’). Similarly, the sight of Till Lindemann – the man with the strap-on – goose-stepping sternly across the stage in boots that shoot out waterfalls of sparks indicates a man not unaware of the band’s earnest reputation. And Lindemann’s legendary flaming 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 her. 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 Everley.

*spelling & translation errors are as printed in the original article

NME: Docklands Arena review 01 June 2002

Rammstein – London Docklands Arena
By Steve Wells
N.M.E. – 1 June 2002
WHOOOOMPHF! The mad bastards are wearing 2Oft long napalm-flame spewing fuckmasks. This is great! It's all like shouting – “URKI ARK! UMLAUT RAUS!” - and killer riffs and fucking blowing shit the fuck up. Hey! Why aren't all gigs like this?
KABOOOOM! Jesus fuck! That is a strap-on dildo, right? We only ask because superbly muscled lead singer Till Lindemann sports a massive packet anyway. He must have a cock like a small python. He is just so butch. So male. So WOOF! In fact Rammstein are Village People restyled by Hieronymus Bosch. No - they're the Pet Shop Boys with a very bad headache.
No - they're Erasure gone utterly and irrevocably insane. No - they're Frankie Goes To Hollywood, but WITH BOMBS! The key to Rammstein's genius is that they have recognised metal's essential gayness and gone the whole hog. In fact they've bought the hog farm, pumped the swine full of steroids, fitted them with stainless steel tusks and then blown the porcine motherf---ers the fuck up.
A new standard has been set. If the next band you see don’t have flame throwers and massive explosions, then boo them. They are ripping you off.

Terrorizer - Review of London Docklands

Rammstein – London Docklands Arena
By Nelly Liger
Terrorizer Issue #101 – July/August 2002

If Rammstein provide the perfect soundtrack to World War III onstage, then the venue they chose to showcase their talent looks like the site of its desolate aftermath. In front of an audience that numbered no more than a couple of thousands, the Arena turns out to be not such a very smart choice. Mind you, Rammstein do rock no matter what. Whether the people are drawn for their horror romanticist blend of theatre and music or for the spectacle only (the explosions, the flaming suits, the spurting dildoes) is not really important. In a world where the financial rewards of package tours and product endorsement have seen integrity sacrificed for musical conformity, the idea of a bunch of East German sexual torture fanatics begging you auf Deutsch to bend over while their guitars grind like chainsaws sounds like a very, very exciting prospect. Tunes like 'Links 2-3-4', and 'Rein Haus' are meticulously streamlined, mechanised metal laced with electronic rhythms and icy Aryan precision. The Uberserious guttural delivery of ex-Olympic swimmer Till Lindemann lends the band a melodramatic sense of melody as muscular as it is mannered.
Transcending any perceived language barrier, the German language becomes integral to the Rammstein sound in the same way the flames and the prosthetic knobs are an essential part of their show.
Lindemann sings 'Rammstein' engulfed in flame from head to toe, while a trio of guitars spurt 20-foot long jets of flames when 'Du Hast' is aired. They bid us farewell with 'Sonne' and their new single 'Ich Will’, which, oddly enough, has become a singalong anthem for the British public. Tonight, it certainly looks like Germany has conquered England. And this time, they've done without tanks.

© 2005 Sue Lindemann