Maconie, Stuart, New Statesman (1996)
Future Days: Krautrock and the Building of Modern Germany
Faber & Faber, 496pp. 20 [pounds sterling]
As the seventh of Germany's goals made their opponents' net billow on that balmy July evening in Belo Horizonte--thus completing the humiliation of this year's feted World Cup hosts, Brazil--and then a few days later, as the benign but steely alpha hausfrau Angela Merkel watched her boys lift the trophy, it was odd to reflect that at the end of the 1960s, while England swung and Brazil bossa-ed, Germany skulked, at least culturally.
Today, the Federal Republic of Germany is the world's third-largest exporter behind China and the United States and creates a quarter of the eurozone's annual GDR Yet, in the early 1970s, the economic miracle and Gerd Muller notwithstanding, it was still to an extent a nation in shadow; riven by terrorism, mistrust and a generational schism between parents who had grown up in Hitler's Third Reich and children burdened with its toxic inheritance of shame.
Nowhere was this fracture seen more clearly than in the world of music. At the music school of Darmstadt and in the classical field, Karlheinz Stockhausen and his disciples were embracing a boldly experimental approach that overturned the cloying conservatism of the Nazis. And in popular music, whose practitioners were sometimes Stockhausen's pupils and often emerged from the conservatoire, there was "Krautrock".
Currently, Krautrock is a term that is bandied about alarmingly freely by bloggers, hipsters and, most of all, bands, desperate for its reflected cool. The latter will generally claim to have been immersing themselves in such 1970s German music during the making of their latest masterpiece, even if no one is quite sure what Krautrock means, or if indeed it means anything at all. As David Stubbs, in this first large-scale survey of the "movement", neatly puts it: "Whenever a new group wish to show their experimental credentials, they will reach up and pick out the word 'Krautrock' like a condiment to add a radical dash to their press release."
What this usually means is that they have appropriated the driving "Motorik" beat from the records of one particular act, Neu! --but, in truth, no two Krautrock acts sound remotely alike. Compare the dreamy synthesiser washes of Tangerine Dream with the alien noise collages of Faust or the psychedelic funk of Can. What Stubbs points out is that it was rather a modus operandi, a generational response to both the consumerist imperialism of the Marshall Plan and the US in their native land and the sins of their fathers and mothers.
The Third Reich looms large over Krautrock. Few bands or pieces address it directly but the ghost of it informs every riff and groove. Irmin Schmidt said that the loose, collectivist vibe of his band Can was down to a deliberate "no fuhrers" policy. Stubbs smartly points out that when Frank Zappa goaded hippie audiences in the US by telling them that their schools were run by Nazis, he was being figurative and hyperbolic. For Can, Faust, Kraftwerk and the rest, it was literally true. Altnazis were still in positions of power in German social life, a tolerated stain on the national culture.
Stubbs is also good at placing this music in an economic and industrial context. …