With their pioneering
blend of electronic instrumentation, repetitive beats and simple yet effective
hooks, Kraftwerk defied all expectations as a totally electronic German band
that became a worldwide phenomenon in the early 1970’s. However, Kraftwerk not
only rewrote the rulebook on what pop music could be, but also defied the
tired hyper-masculine rock clichés of the 70’s - and redefined what it meant to
be a man in pop.
Before Kraftwerk broke through to mainstream critical
acclaim in 1974 with their seminal track Autobahn,
the perception of electronic music in the public consciousness could not be
more different from what it is today.
Electronic music existed only on the fringes of popular culture, either as
novelty records (Hot Butter’s ‘Popcorn’, 1972), cinematic scores, or the foil
of avant-garde composers and installation artists. For electronic music to have
become the staple genre and approach to pop consistently over the past 40 years
is in itself a testament to the influence of Kraftwerk. When Kraftwerk first
arrived on British television in 1974, they appeared not on Top of the Pops,
but on Tomorrows World, presented as charming if slightly ridiculous eccentrics.
Within a decade, they were hailed as pioneers and inspirations by
artists as varied as David Bowie, Giorgio Moroder, John Lydon, Throbbing
Gristle, Afrika Bambaattaa, as well as pretty much every electro-pop and New
Romantic British act from 1977 and beyond. As such, they are foundational
figures in various genres, their musical DNA weaved throughout electronic pop,
dance, funk, hip-hop, techno, house, post-punk, industrial and many more
besides. Simply put, Kraftwerk exist in a higher pantheon of artists, the
extent of their influence almost totally unrivalled. But it is not only their
approach to music that made them so unique, or their style so influential. I
would argue that Kraftwerk’s robo-pastiche unknowingly concealed a sly, ironic dig at
traditional masculine stereotypes in rock – and by extension, challenged both the
fraught political climate in West Germany at the time, and started more than one
cultural revolution.
The Germany Kraftwerk formed in was characterised by an air of unease. Kraftwerk, like all of their ‘Krautrock’
peers, were members of the first post-war generation in Germany, and were the
first generation to tackle their countries chequered history head on. West
Germany was left destitute after the war – a mere 20% of the countries urban
landscapes were left - unscathed – a financial and political malaise only
alleviated via the intervention of the US. With the aid of various trading and
industrial bonds set up in the 1950’s between West Germany and the US, the
country managed to achieve an unprecedented economic revival, so much so that
there was no immediate pressure to address the events between 1933 and 1945.
The German government’s decision to define Nazi-ism as the inherent flaw in a
select few, rather than general sociological phenomena that engulfed near the
entire population, resulted in many war time Nazi sympathisers retaining
positions of power in many German institutions, including government, higher
education and business. There was a cultural shift towards championing Germanic
cultural traditions, whilst the Americanisation of the state concurrently
introduced American media. This dual effect resulted in a cultural stagnation
across Germany. The elder generation – those who were complicit and therefore
hoping to forget their role in Nazi rule- favoured traditional forms of German
music such as Schlager. Schlager, a genre based in traditional Germanic folk
music, was wilfully anti-zeitgeist, and unintentionally kitsch. It was also,
more worryingly, directly linked to Nazi-ism, as many of its biggest stars
covered traditional German folk songs also evoked by the Nazis to convey some
sort of national pride. Conversely, the German youth, in an attempt to push
back against the actions of their parents, favoured American rock and roll such
as Jimmy Hendrix and Frank Zappa, failing as a result to ignite any new
sense of Germanic pride by neglecting German talent, and inadvertently
supported an economy directly complicit in helping their country supress its
past. By the late 1960’s, tensions between the country’s youth and its elders
reached boiling point, with acts of terror from either end of the political
spectrum occurring in most major German cities, cultivating an atmosphere of
tension and hostility. It was time for a new German wave, a need to create
something ostensibly German (read anti- American), yet also totally dissociated
from Germany’s past so that the country could begin to progress. It was in this
environment of crushing social and political pressure that Kraftwerk was
formed.
If Kraftwerk have received one continuous criticism over their
50 year career, it is that they have always remained coldly impassive,
staunchly apolitical. This is a gross misunderstanding of their mission
statement. They, like other experimental German bands of the time such as Can
and Neu!, where not outright in their politics, but were more quietly
subversive in their image and their chosen style. An element of Kraftwerk’s idiosyncratic style
that is often overlooked is their use of wry, dry as a bone humour, subtly
inferring their self-awareness. It is easy now to see Kraftwerk’s robotic,
clinical appearance and style as totally Germanic – it is possible that this
cultural stereotype largely exists because of Kraftwerk’s entry into the
zeitgeist – but their image was at odds with the prevailing standards of rock
music of the time. And if Schlager and ‘American Rock’ had anything in common,
it was the central role of male posturing in either genre, the regressive
standards of masculinity that both genre’s championed in their own ways. This
was to be somewhat expected of Schlager, being a genre steeped in tradition,
but it was even more apparent, and exponentially more disappointing, in rock
music. Even the more socially conscious acts of the era, like Frank Zappa, were
not immune to this. Hair was to be long and abundant (especially on the chest),
guitars were to be slung low to be held at crotch level, and songs (when not
concerned with politics or getting high) were concerned with the most
stereotypical masculine topics – women, sex, cars and violence.
As children of the post-war generation, and as scholars of
art, Kraftwerk were completely aware of this regressive approach to music. And
once one opens themselves up to Kraftwerk’s sly sense of humour, every facet of
their style becomes a rebuttal of the early 70’s rock star. Whilst stars like
Jimmy Page and Genesis made objects out of people (mostly, if not entirely
women), Kraftwerk were inverting the system by personifying objects. Kraftwerk
were equally enthralled by the imagery of the car, but whereas other rock stars
use automobiles as stand in symbols of masculinity and virility, Kraftwerk were
interested in highlighting the beauty of the machine itself, without any
underhanded references to sex or animalistic pleasure. This is of course
highlighted best in their breakthrough smash Autobahn (1974). Coming in at just over 22 minutes, this behemoth
of proto-electronic pop is less of a song than a sensory experience, detailing
a drive down an Autobahn leading out of Berlin though electronic sound
manipulation that far predates sampling. The songs deceptively simple composition (a
trademark of the Kraftwerk sound) belies a wealth of social commentary that
highlights Kraftwerk’s sly subversion. Evoking both American popular music (the
refrain ‘Wie fahren, fahren, fahren auf der Autobahn’ is supposedly ripped in part from a Beach
Boys track) and German industrial accomplishments (the building of the Autobahns
was completed during Nazi rule, a constant reminder of their presence in German
development), Kraftwerk undermined both the mythos of the own country and the
influence of American rock by pairing it down to its bare bones. Kraftwerk even
sang about women, but only the once – on 1977’s The Model, but even here the feign attempt at evoking the male gaze
(She’s a model and she’s looking good/I’d like to take her home, that’s
understood) is undermined by the bluntly cold delivery of the lyrics, and the
metallic, de-sexualised repetition of the music.
Kraftwerk’s lyrical preoccupations with the inanimate –
nuclear energy, trains, calculators – was matched by a public image that to
blurred the line between object and being. When Autobahn arrived in 1974, Kraftwerk had not yet adapted the robotic
personae that they are now known for. In their initial TV appearances, they
even smile. But even this earlier incarnation of the band represents a complete
visual caesura from male rock stars of the day. Early Youtube footage proves
that the earliest incarnation of the band – including both founding members
Florian Schneider, and only remaing member Ralf Hutter – did sport the long
haired, open shirt aesthetic of the time. By 1974, the hair was clipped and slicked
back, their faces clean shaven, and every inch of flesh below the neck covered.
Even without their robot schtick, Kraftwerk presented themselves as almost
genderless by the standards of early 1970’s rock. British listeners, accustomed
to the glitter and velvet glam of David Bowie and Roxy Music as well as the
hirsute gruffness of Prog and metal – would have been unnerved by a band who
disregarded any sort of assertive gender identity that was either masculine or
feminine. It was this that led to an uneasy British press referring to them as ‘robotic’,
unable to comprehend a band who utilized no gender signifiers whatsoever. Over
the coming years, Kraftwerk played into this trope, highlighted best on their
1977 classic The Man Machine and
especially its opening the track The
Robots. Coupled with its promotional video, the song is a blatant parody of
not only their public image but of rock stars in general. Sung through a heavy
vocoder effect, the songs lyrics (We are programmed just to do/Anything you
want us to/We are the robots), together with bands almost
complete immobility, are a million miles away from the impassioned wails or
overblown posturing of their rock star rivals. It is important to note that
Kraftwerk’s subversion of masculine tropes does not equate with evoking
femininity like the stars of glam rock – though one could argue that their
power lay in combining feminine appearances with a musical style similar in its
posturing to any other heavy rock band of the day – but by removing the notions
of gender performance entirely. It is in this regard that the band’s image made
a complete departure from traditionally image conscious rock stars of the past.
Kraftwerk not only neglected to present or perform as masculine, but presented
as entirely de-sexed.
All of these elements are united in their infamous musical
style, which transforms their image and lyrical themes from parody into a
holistic manifesto. Kraftwerk’s influence over electronic music, as
aforementioned, is almost unfathomable, but electronics were not only
revolutionary for their auditory properties. Every element of the
Kraftwerk sound – incessant repetition, ingenious simplicity – corrupted the
conventions of rock, which served wholly to accentuate the masculinity of its
stars. The use of synthesizers is most significant – the role of the guitar in
rock as a phallic symbol was long established (recall Bowie performing
‘fellatio’ on Mick Ronson’s guitar – even with its homoerotic undertones, the
guitar remains a symbol of masculine virility). Guitars, worn low over the
crotch and played by sliding ones hands up and down it in an act of egotistic
masturbation, also required their performers to be proficiently trained. The
bloated, overblown guitar solo was the calling card of progressive rock, and
with it the central role of male posturing.
Kraftwerk did not dance, but it is hard to see how they could behind
such unwieldy pieces of machinery. Their use of repetition also removed the
opportunity for showmanship. It is telling that in their homeland of Germany,
Kraftwerk were often dismissed by the German press as proliferating ‘disco’
music, something too far removed from rock n’ roll. Given discos intrinsic
relationship with both black and queer audiences, it is clear what the press
may have been insinuating with this comparison. They established electronic
music as a genre separate from rock not only in composition but in its intended
audience. Ironically, given Kraftwerk’s propensity for absolute immobility,
they highlighted that electronic music, pared down to its pure basics, was
fabulous for dancing. The influence of this decision, and what it may mean for
any musician who is not a heterosexual white male, is staggering. Giorgio
Moroder directly references Kraftwerk’s pulsating electronic minimalism on
Donna Summer’s I Feel Love, and in
doing so created not only an enduring queer anthem, but also opened to
floodgates for electronic music to adopt more emotion than Kraftwerk’s approach
could allow. Electropop was perhaps one of the earliest genre’s (after punk,
and possibly country) to allow women to write and produce their own material,
after years of being excluded form predominately male rock spaces. Early
electronica is most revered for its commitment to bending gender norms, with
many of its earliest male stars – Gary Numan, Phil Oakey, Marc Almond and David
Sylvian – adapting public personae that dabbled in gender bending to various degrees.
And elements of Kraftwerk’s Trans Europe
Express where sampled heavily on Planet Rock by Afrika Bambaataa, one of
the earliest electro-funk and hip-hop records. What all these artists shared in
common was a recognition of the open accessibility of electronic music – much
like punk, by removing the need for technical proficiency, those who had been
previously excluded from popular music suddenly had a means of expressing their
vision. Power could be found in minimalism, simplicity, not only in the wild
histrionics found in the shredding guitar solos and production wizardry typical
of prog. And not only did these bands inherit Kraftwerk’s disregard for rock
tropes in their musical style, but also in their image.
Someone with a passing interest in Kraftwerk, or perhaps
even some of their biggest fans, would perhaps scoff at the concept of
evaluating the bands output through a gender and sexuality politics framework.
I would agree that specific ideas of gender identity and performance were
unlikely to be on Kraftwerk’s radar. Some critics have suggested some
homoerotic undertones to their work – the phallic images of the train on Trans Europe Express, or the songs Pocket Calculator and Tour De France, which opens with the
sounds of heavy male breathing. This would, if anything, be proof of their wry
sense of humour, so subtle that it is often missed or misinterpreted. Their
vision was more concerned with deconstructing public perceptions of both German
people and German culture, rather than notions of gender. However, it is for
this reason why Kraftwerk highlight the importance of inter-sectional analysis,
especially with regards to explorations of gender and sexuality. Kraftwerk’s
work was primarily a rebuttal of American rock, yes, but in their doing so highlighted
how central regressive ideas of masculine virility were (and are) in pop music. When it is
removed, the result is something alien, and unprecedented, fresh and exciting. It
is in how their electronic torch was carried by their successors that one can
see the monumental addition Kraftwerk made in reducing the presence of toxic
masculinity in pop and allowed men to explore alternative styles and
approaches. It is not surprising that their earliest champions – David Bowie, Brian
Eno – were also artists coyly playing on the fringes of the experimental, in both
music and appearance, whilst still operating in the realm of pop. Kraftwerk,
perhaps more than any other band, can claim to have intrinsically altered the
very DNA of popular music. It is time that their social and political contributions
to our culture receive similar attention.
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