London Lyceum

I have seen the death of rock and roll and its name is Einsturzende Neubauten.

Normally, after a gig, I go home, get into bed and watch TV. After this one, I ran in crazy circles around Trafalger Square, loudly proclaiming the above sentiment and looking for a sizeable mallet with which to knock off the heads of the lions at the bottom of Nelson's Column.

Following Malaria (how apt! What usually happens following .a dose of malaria?) the stage is cleared of regular instruments and amps and on come lumps, sheets and cylindrical pieces of Berlin metal.

A crowd, large in number, gathers at the front. At times, people sway like a football audience and later, occasionally, even pogo!

There is a buzz of expectation which is remarkable considering Einsturzende Neubauten have never before played in this country and have no records (as yet) released here. This anticipation stems solely from their limited press coverage and a word of mouth underground rep.

Blixa sings like a man being strangled and attacks a guitar with a necessarily insensitive urgency. In the first song, Marc Chung sends out a quivering, pulsating single note bass line; the other two whack the chunks of metal; more sounds come from a cassette player.

To continue reading this article and to discover many more (over 140,000 words-worth!), purchase Mick Sinclair’s Adjusting the Stars: Music journalism from post-punk London.