Written by: Yvette
My eyes were filled with enthrallment upon witnessing the magnificent Rammstein. It was my second time seeing them, my first being at the Big Day Out in 2001. The only song I knew from them was the infamous Du Hast from the Matrix soundtrack and sadly for me, as an almost pious 18 year old, never paid them a second thought. That was until my devirgination to them at the Big Day Out 2011.
The Rammstein show was an orgy of visual stimulation. The crowd echoed screams for the band to finally emerge from behind a massive German flag and giant flashes of light and fireworks, to Rammlied. Hence, Rammstein commenced with a thronging crescendo! The disarming Kruspe on lead guitar and the smouldering Landers on rhythm both rocked it hard, strutting and flanking the hulking lead singer, Lindemann to his left and right respectively. With clouds of smoke wafting the atmosphere above and epically thrashing it out on what seemed like a plethora of drums was ‘Doom’ Schneider. To Doom’s right was the demure ‘Ollie’ Riedel on bass, and to his left was the eccentric ‘Flake’ Lorenz briskly pacing atop a treadmill whilst simultaneously manoeuvring his magic on the keyboards. The stage had an industrial and what I perceived, as a post-apocalyptic semblance and the band members were all iconically gothic-clad. Before my eyes was just exactly that, magnificence, but next came the theatrics!
The pyrotechnics amazed me endlessly. Flames were fired from a type of firearm in Waidmann’s Heil. A petrol pump was slowly dragged out amidst an electric blue lighting during Benzin and a streaming blast of flames was aimed at a hapless victim onstage. Although nowhere near the front rows, one could definitely feel the heat from all the fire! Flake, after kicking Lindemann in the backside, was thrown into a bathtub in Ich Tu Dir Weh and theatrically bashed by Lindemann. A barrel of spitting flames was then poured on top of the tub by Lindemann upon an elevated platform. Even more plumes of flames were ignited when Feuer Frei was played and the stage was lit up a bright orange. During Du Hast a cross bow of fire was shot off, and later Lindemann’s enticing baritone voice boomed out eerily, “Show me your hands!” as he rapidly slapped his fist that was clutching the microphone. On occasions I delighted in seeing the incorrigible lead singer, squatting partially and pounding his fist into his upper thigh, which I have since learned is known to be, the ‘Till Hammer.’ Ten years later, I would never have imagined myself to be standing struck with awe, gasping in delight to their performance of Pussy upon where Till mounted a phallic bubble machine which proceeded to pump foam over the now crazed fans in the mosh pit of the front rows. It was then that I had clearly been initiated.
The show ended quite surprisingly formal with the band member’s bowing on bended knee and Lindemann thanking the crowd in both English and German. I clapped long and hard for the best performance of my lifetime and for the best metal performers of all lifetime. The following band definitely had no chance against the visual orgasm I had just experienced.
For Affenknecht by Yvette
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