By Hannah McLamb
"Listen to them, the children of the night. What sweet music they make." – Vlad, Dracula.
Truly, good things do come to those who wait. While recovering from major surgery in November, I missed two wicked tours. First, the Ugly Spirits Tour with Thrill Kill Kult, Cherrie Blue, and VooDou, then the Bile and Nocturne tour, which played a skatepark near my house. All I could do was lie on the couch in the haze of a Percocet high – flipping channels (damn those bastards at Nickelodeon for axing Invader Zim!). The whole mess left me with a gnarly 24" scar that snakes from hip to hip – which a friend of mine says is very "punk rockish" – and a grave case of cabin fever. When I learned from friends at Metropolis Records that Das Ich would be making a stop in North Carolina to support their latest masterpiece, Anti’Christ, I was ecstatic. Having heard from friends in Stuttgart about Das Ich’s legendary performances to crowds of 20 – 30,000, I felt sure seeing them at a venue as intimate as Charlotte’s Tremont Music Hall would garner me enough uber bragging rights to make my snotty German friend’s elitist lips quiver.
I wanted to see Das Ich! Screw obeying doctor’s orders and waiting another week to drive! Screw the fact it was on a Monday night! Screw the sad fact I was low on fundage due to Percocet-laced 1 a.m. shopping sprees on Amazon.com (it was a viscous cycle)! This wasn’t just any German band, this was Dash Ich – a duo that broke barriers between industrial and gothic music and have influenced countless German Industrial bands such as :wumpscut: and VNV Nation. This was sheer madness that they were actually playing a gig in NC. Besides, screw whining about pissing my money away – I had a press pass!
Screw Major Airlines!
I was very nervous meeting Das Ich prior to their NC show supported by my favorite Invisible band, the incomparable VooDou. I had heard conflicting stories from sundry sources concerning how well the members of Das Ich spoke English and my knowledge of the Germanic tongue is nil. I took German my freshman year in college (although I spent more time consuming German beer than vocabulary) and my professor sucked. He was a bizarre little man in his fifties. Although he wasn’t German, he was obsessed with German culture. Scary obsessed – as in wearing German uniforms to school. All he talked about was his love of rubanesque German ladies and his neurotic German Shepherd, Claude. At the end of the course, I had mastered two phrases in German:
- Ja, mein liebes. Sie kochen ein reizendes weiner schiztnel
(Yes, my dear. You cook a lovely weiner schiztnel.)
- Freches Claude! Gehen sie von der couch weg!
(Naughty Claude! Get off the couch!)
Somehow, I didn’t feel comfortable stunning Das Ich with my German speaking skills and lucky for me, I didn’t have to. Bruno and Stefan are quite fluent in English. They explained that they were unsure how the show would go due to the fact British Airways had "misplaced" some of their equipment and personal items. They looked exactly like I expected – Stefan was the only one who was not wearing a costume. Daniel Galda was all black and red from head to toe – including his hair, and wore a very Christ-like crown of vines. In the past, Das Ich has drawn their look from classic expressionist German horror films, such as the Cabinet of Dr. Calgari. However, The Cell inspired Bruno Kramm’s current incarnation for the Anti’Christ tour – complete with makeup and horns! If a poll were taken for best-coifed industrial band, Das Ich would certainly get this industrial baby’s vote.
Screw Labels!
It is the bane of journalists who write about music to classify bands. It’s like a sick compulsion that self-professed "elitist" squabble over in the dark corners of clubs in-between heated drags off their clove cigarettes. I say screw classification because there are some bands you absolutely cannot "pigeonhole." So it goes with Das Ich. Some critics cry "gothic" because of Das Ich’s macabre appearance and their involvement with the Procession Tour (the world gothic tour that touted such bands as Faith and the Muse, Corpus Delecti, and my beloved Rosetta Stone). Those in the industrial camp refute the gothic label and use as a defense Das Ich’s penchant for slaughterhouse-style beats and Bruno’s synth skills. It’s a sound Bruno describes as "industrial symphonics" – no doubt due Kramm’s classical background as well as their nods to classical composers, authors, and linguistics. Das Ich’s work, mostly conceptual in nature, move from the highly danceable and mixable Egodram to the darker, morose release Morgue (the latter was inspired by the haunting poetry of Gotfried Benn, which is about, well – a morgue). Every release by Das Ich is more than a new album; it’s an event. Joined by Daniel Galda onstage doing some work on synths, Das Ich is unstoppable – even if they have to borrow equipment from the supporting band. This was exactly the case that evening. Thanks to generosity of VooDou, particularly VooDou’s own electronic wizard Dave Flick, Das Ich took to the stage. I thought there would be throngs of rivetheads present, but the crowd was thin. So small, in fact, Stefan said that the audience was like "family" – a romping, stomping, chanting, German industrial dancing family! Uber cozy!
"And if the earthly has forgotten thee, say to the silent, ‘I am living.’ To the running water, say ‘I am." – Gotfried Benn
The intensity of Das Ich’s performance did not disappoint. Melodies, fluid and haunting, melted against viscous beats and Stefan’s fervent vocals. I talked to my friend, a die-hard VNV fan, the day before the show. He grumbled and said he wouldn’t go because Stefan sang everything in German. What?!? Stay at home and watch Buffy! Thou art no longer worthy of attending a Das Ich concert. I can’t imagine hearing Das Ich in English – it would be like hearing Beethoven’s Ode to Joy in English – it just wouldn’t be right! Language does not play a factor in appreciating the complex work of Das Ich. Stefan’s power to convey the meaning behind the intense German lyrics is uncanny. Seamlessly, Stefan can transform his expression from that of a gloating demon to one of a trembling child. The core of Das Ich’s music is raw emotion – whether it is anger, lust, mockery, pity, or disgust. Inspired by the writings of Baudelaire and his Evil Flowers (Fleurs du Mal), Das Ich masters of essence of the human – or at times inhuman – condition in its frailest state. Like investigators of the human psyche, they seek what separates good from evil and suffering from beauty.
Screw Moments of Serious Commentary!
Besides, going to a German industrial concert is fun! What can be better than strapping on your favorite rivethead footwear (I saw everything from Muro and New Rock boots to tattered Creepers and high top Converses) and stomping around for an hour or so? How long will you neglect the little pissed-off "I wanna smash somethin’ with a sledge hammer" rivethead/maniac that dwells in the pit of all our souls? Attending a Das Ich concert is a perfect opportunity for letting him or her come out to play (downing a couple shots of Jagermeister first is optional – just for ambiance).
Das Ich played a stunning set. The crowd was attentive for a Monday night, when only the truly dedicated or bored come out to shows. Das Ich ripped through pieces punctuating their fifteen-year career including Gott is Tot, Kain und Abel, Kindegott, and Sodom and Gomorra. Of course, they played Destillat after leaving stage and coming back for an encore. Das Ich knew what this crowd was waiting for. "What song would you like to hear?" quizzed Stefan, with a teasing grin. A unanimous "Destillat" rang out (unanimous except for the elitist in the back who whimpered, "Play something from Morgue!") Then BOOM – on with Destillat and more frenzied stomping. A few lucky audience members even joined Stefan in what I can find no other description for other than "the ritualistic German circle stomping dance." It was just cool to be there. After all, we were family that night.
Screw You - For Missing This Das Ich Tour!
Kicking yourself in der arsch for missing Das Ich’s visit to your neck of the woods? Don’t pout – prepare! Here’s what I recommend you do whilst waiting for Das Ich’s next American tour. Pick up a copy of what some critics say is Das Ich’s return to their roots and their most philosophical release to date – Anti’Christ. While you are at it, pick up a copy of Re Kapitulation, too! Crank up the speakers to eleven, strap on your boots, and summon your inner rivethead/maniac. (Having trouble with the summoning part? Down a couple of shots of Jagermeister – that will get you going!) Stomp around your kitchen, or better yet, your garage like mad and build up those wimpy leg muscles. The next time Das Ich darkens the door of your favorite haunt, you’ll be ready. Das Ich live is a must see for any darkwave/ebm/industrial/gothic enthusiast!
Screw the Peeps Who Came Late and Missed VooDou!
Yes, my sweet - another piece about VooDou
I would be completely remiss if I did not mention VooDou’s performance that evening in a little more detail – although I know I have written about them at length in previous installments of Choler – just get used to it! In many ways, I have seen the evolution of VooDou from their opening for the Preaching to the Perverted tour to this concert supporting Das Ich. I value their premiere album with Invisible, The Blessing of Curses, as one of Invisible Record’s best releases of 2002. The set the performed to usher in Das Ich was one of the finest I have seen VooDou unleash. Possibly the most dynamic band in their genre, VooDou is a rare find these days - the fury and passion of Chad Wilder coupled with the grinding assault of Jeff Winfrey on guitars, the hypnotic intensity of Billy Miller on bass and clarinet, the sheer genius of electronic phenom David Flick, and the firey sensuality of siren Michelle Walters. VooDou is a tempest of aural ecstasy. (Not to mention the antics of new skin smasher, Waylon.) Check out Michelle on tour with PigFace these coming months and be on high alert for VooDou’s rampage across America with CHRISTIAN DEATH, of all bands.
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