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michiexileIt all started once upon a time with a big bang.
Then a lot of time passed.
About 23 years ago, I was born.
Again, a lot of time passed.
Then my father started playing a lot of Kraftwerk music for me and my brothers when we were innocent and impressionable little children.
Now, again, a lot of time has passed.
And Kraftwerk comes to Stockholm. I take notice in the daily papers, and tell my father and brother about it. I then note that (a) the tickets were released, and (b) the tickets were sold out. (c) an extra performance was scheduled and finally (d) those tickets were sold out as well. All this information arrived in one chunk.
A day later, I notice an ad for some sort of (possibly black market) agency reselling concert tickets, and tip off my father, who promptly buyed three of them. NOT nota bene telling my brother.
A few days before christmas, my brother gets really anxious, and starts bugging dad about looking for the tickets somewhere! Anywhere! Please? He gets fenced off a few more days, and is the only one truly surprised when one of the christmas gifts contains three tickets for Kraftwerk.
So, today, it was time and we went. Me, my brother and my father. We started out on TGI Friday's; eating hamburgers (soggy, I'm told) and hamburger tacos (weird, I tell them). Subsequently, we go out with the general maelstrom of synth kids and elder music enthusiasts to the concert arena - Circus. Once there, we meet a good friend of mine and Staffans; and my father notes that the audience comes in two flavours: Those with hair on top of their heads and none around. And those with hair around their head and none on top.
The music starts. After an eternal wait. And an exquisitely minimalistic scene show boots up and plays through. The artists basically just stand almost frozen in position and perform their music (live - not playback NB); shutting down the scene entirely for setting changes. And all the action takes place on the big screen behind them - where video snippets very much akin to the various music videos are played.
The clothes.
They cycle through four sets of scene garb:
Black jackets, brightly red shirts and black tie.
Black jackets, brightly red shirts and black tie with blinking red diods.
Robot models of themselves.
Black coveralls with a bright flourescing green grid pattern all over the place.
The music.
It's a grand feeling to hear the bass lines in the music with your breastbones instead of with your ears. It really, really, really is.
It's a grand feeling listening to all the old greats - "We are the robots", "Radioactivity", "Neon lights", "The model", "Computerwelt", "Pocket calculator", "Man machine", and so on and so forth - with a driving rhythm that makes you as hungry for a mindless trancelike dance as EBM usually does.
It's a grand feeling to notice that it really, really, really is a live performance. That they do adjust in realtime to get the singer voice clear over the music. That the music does peel off as they leave the stage one after another in Music Non Stop. (Wonderful to see the first one hop off a bit like Linus på linjen as well! YAY! ;)
And just incredibly insanely wonderful to go away from the concert hall, delirious with the endorfine or whatever rush from listening through the concert.
Great.
Then a lot of time passed.
About 23 years ago, I was born.
Again, a lot of time passed.
Then my father started playing a lot of Kraftwerk music for me and my brothers when we were innocent and impressionable little children.
Now, again, a lot of time has passed.
And Kraftwerk comes to Stockholm. I take notice in the daily papers, and tell my father and brother about it. I then note that (a) the tickets were released, and (b) the tickets were sold out. (c) an extra performance was scheduled and finally (d) those tickets were sold out as well. All this information arrived in one chunk.
A day later, I notice an ad for some sort of (possibly black market) agency reselling concert tickets, and tip off my father, who promptly buyed three of them. NOT nota bene telling my brother.
A few days before christmas, my brother gets really anxious, and starts bugging dad about looking for the tickets somewhere! Anywhere! Please? He gets fenced off a few more days, and is the only one truly surprised when one of the christmas gifts contains three tickets for Kraftwerk.
So, today, it was time and we went. Me, my brother and my father. We started out on TGI Friday's; eating hamburgers (soggy, I'm told) and hamburger tacos (weird, I tell them). Subsequently, we go out with the general maelstrom of synth kids and elder music enthusiasts to the concert arena - Circus. Once there, we meet a good friend of mine and Staffans; and my father notes that the audience comes in two flavours: Those with hair on top of their heads and none around. And those with hair around their head and none on top.
The music starts. After an eternal wait. And an exquisitely minimalistic scene show boots up and plays through. The artists basically just stand almost frozen in position and perform their music (live - not playback NB); shutting down the scene entirely for setting changes. And all the action takes place on the big screen behind them - where video snippets very much akin to the various music videos are played.
The clothes.
They cycle through four sets of scene garb:
Black jackets, brightly red shirts and black tie.
Black jackets, brightly red shirts and black tie with blinking red diods.
Robot models of themselves.
Black coveralls with a bright flourescing green grid pattern all over the place.
The music.
It's a grand feeling to hear the bass lines in the music with your breastbones instead of with your ears. It really, really, really is.
It's a grand feeling listening to all the old greats - "We are the robots", "Radioactivity", "Neon lights", "The model", "Computerwelt", "Pocket calculator", "Man machine", and so on and so forth - with a driving rhythm that makes you as hungry for a mindless trancelike dance as EBM usually does.
It's a grand feeling to notice that it really, really, really is a live performance. That they do adjust in realtime to get the singer voice clear over the music. That the music does peel off as they leave the stage one after another in Music Non Stop. (Wonderful to see the first one hop off a bit like Linus på linjen as well! YAY! ;)
And just incredibly insanely wonderful to go away from the concert hall, delirious with the endorfine or whatever rush from listening through the concert.
Great.
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no subject
Date: 2004-02-11 08:33 am (UTC)Though, I don't know what disturbs me more -- the concept of a soggy hamburger or that there are TGI Friday's in Stockholm.
Re:
Date: 2004-02-12 01:29 am (UTC)And after the concert, my father gave me and my brother a holy mission:
Complete the discography of Kraftwerk and gather them in his basement.
Oh, and there are at least 2 TGI Friday's in Stockholm. At least, I've eaten at two already.