You know that feeling you get when you’re under the weather, functioning at less than one hundred percent, but have an expensive ticket to a bucket list gig? You force yourself out and simply hope for the best, well aware that it’s a bucket list gig you’ll (likely) never again get a chance to tick off?
That was my dilemma last Wednesday evening as I headed for Wellington’s TSB Arena to sate a lifelong desire to see Kraftwerk up close and personal. I need not have worried too much, any fatigue factor was partially mitigated by it being an all-seated event, and naturally Kraftwerk’s arrival on stage soon made me forget about any of those initial concerns.
There they were, almost within touching distance. Four glowing figures. Standing behind their four customary lectern-like structures. No other band* equipment in sight. And none required. 50-plus-years’ worth of cutting edge electronic musical innovation standing right there. Well, founding member Ralf Hutter was there, at least, with support from three band* members with considerably less time on the clock. It was Kraftwerk nonetheless.
*are Kraftwerk a band? Discuss, show workings where applicable.
As the German technocrats worked through the opening phase of their set it immediately became obvious we were about to hear something close to a “greatest hits” show - opening with ‘Numbers’, ‘Computer World’, and ‘Home Computer’ hybrids - and I couldn’t shake the notion that much of this stuff was practically inter-planetary back in the late 1970s and early 1980s when it initially surfaced.
Pre-Microsoft, pre-Windows ’95, pre-Apple, magnificence. And quite visionary when you stop to consider how relatively peripheral to our day-to-day world that kind of technology would remain for at least another decade.
The lightshow effectively amounted to projections on the super-sized screen behind the stage, which was more than enough, with each graphic or image perfectly synchronized with what we were hearing. ‘Spacelab’ courted us momentarily with screen shots of Aotearoa and Wellington itself, garnering an additional cheer from many, yet oddly provoking an involuntary bout of inner cringe from yours truly (why does it always have to be about “us”, huh? – Cynical Ed).
And it may have just been me, but five tracks into it, when ‘The Man Machine’ launched itself upon us, it felt like the gig suddenly took on another gear. Was it just a not-so-subtle increase in volume? … or had the pill I didn’t take somehow just kick in? It wasn’t just me, there was an immediate buzz all around me, and I felt sure the entire arena had instantaneously lifted itself couple of feet off the ground, at the very least.
Then the mid-set run: a veritable feast of everything that’s great about technology, and perhaps, 1970s Germany – visually and aurally … ‘Autobahn’, ‘Computer Love’, ‘The Model’ and ‘Neon Lights’, followed immediately by the weightiness of the always relevant but hopefully no longer quite-so-relevant ‘Radioactivity’, which ended with quite a crunch. Deliberately or otherwise (ie. slight technical glitch?), the bass-driven crescendo felt like it fair blew a hole in the very foundations of the venue itself.
‘Tour de France’ took us on a journey, a retro-trip in fact, back to when the world existed only in black and white, whilst simultaneously, musically, steering us well into the distant future. The less familiar ‘Vitamin’ followed, before what might have been the only programming or sequencing hiccup of the night, right at the start of a still quite sensational ‘Trans-Europe Express’; it seemed for a moment as though one of the quartet had briefly fluffed his lines, Hutter glancing sideways at the offender, but no real damage was done.
From there it was distinctly end-game stuff, and the slow build in tension to that earlier mid-set mini-peak was given wider context by a rush of pure unadulterated electro to end the show – after the relatively sedate, but still glorious, ‘The Robots’ had given us the calm before the climactic storm: a ‘Boing Boom Tschak’ / ‘Techno Pop’ / ‘Musique Non-Stop’ hybrid beast of a thing ending a show that will live long in the memory.
No encore, none called for, and none required. Everyone in that crowd had had their fill. And more. It was a gig well worth getting off my woe-is-me lethargic arse for, and one truly befitting the bucket list tag I’d long since given it.
Just a final word for Ralf Hutter himself: that man is 77, yet he stood there for a full two hours directing proceedings, amid the heat, the noise, the visual bombardment, and the pressure to perform; singing, vocoder-ing (is that a thing?), and fiddling with all manner of synthetic gadgetry. But at the end, there he was, the last man standing. Remarkable.
Gig photos courtesy of nothingelseon. With thanks.
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