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Newport Hall, Columbus, Ohio – Metal Hammer

Metal Hammer – October 2001

‘Mein Herz Brennt’ is the starting point, and just as it does in opening ‘Mutter’, it doesn’t set a prophetic tone for things to come as much as it shoots a warning flare into the sky. Onstage, this is literally true. The Germans are attracted to flames like a moth hell-bent on burning down the haus, and tonight is no exception. Using more firepower than most small countries possess is noteworthy. More noteworthy is that they make the explosions part of the music, like a very pissed percussionist. But most noteworthy of all is that Rammstein would be just as intense even if showered with fire extinguishers, so let’s not harp on the obvious and get back to that song, shall we?
It encapsulates everything about Rammstein, and it’s not surprising that it’s the ‘Kashmir’ of our time (many say that tune was Zep’s most indicative), as both tracks mash bombastic drums with symphonic strings while telling ruminating tales of life-changing proportions. Get a German-to-Queen’s-English dictionary if you disbelieve; the crowd already knew because a disconcertingly large number of them scream in German right back at the band (n’Columbus ain’t exactly Düsseldorf, y’know?)
Vocalist Till Lindemannrigidly shifts his arms and looks exactly like a spastic Jaz Coleman from Killing Joke. Unsurprisingly, Rammstein reek of vintage joke with the aural insanity of Al Jourgensen filtered through fellow Krauts Kraftwerk’s emotionless techno OK computer-speak. With Wagnerian drama that approaches a musical film noir. The only song sung in English is a cover of Depeche Mode’s ‘Stripped’. The only verbal interaction with the rank and file is a nearly inaudible “zank you veddy much” before they split. They only time they break character a dour mensch-machines was when a young lady comes on stage and exposes her ample bosom for all to see (result: they smirk. It’s almost a smile) and the only time you don’t think that you’re in the presence of greatness is…. Well, that moment never happens.
Brian O’Neill

© 2005 Sue Lindemann