I am a fan of
Rammstein.
And not in that
fanny way that most “true” fans get. I don't obsess about
the band or make fashion choices based on my love for them. I haven't
studied English translations of their music or posted on an internet
forum devoted to them. And I have never been in a fight defending
them. For me it means I really really like their music. I like it on
a different level than I like most bands and when I hear them I
automatically get happier, even when they are singing about a man
cannibalizing his own severed penis.
Now, for those of
you who aren't familiar with the band, I don't want that penis remark
to give you the wrong idea. Rammstein are not a twisted bunch of
freaks who gleefully sing about sordid subjects, inasmuch as they
aren't what I'd call “freaks”. But yes, they are a bit
twisted. And they do sing gleefully about some horrible things. But
it's all in good fun. And their music rocks.
I bring all this up
because, for the first time ever, Rammstein came to Winnipeg not long
ago. So Warren, who is a much more fanny fan of Rammstein, got
us tickets.
Tickets on the
floor.
So to sum up: I, a
46 year old man with a job and kids and a mortgage, was about to go
to my first ever Industrial Metal show to watch a band whose fan base
appeared to be mainly comprised of young men who look like variations
of Tom Hardy as Bane in the upcoming Dark Knight Rises. And
for many of them this includes the headgear.
Despite the looks
of the crowd, we arrived in good spirits. Also, I'd noted that Warren
had opted to wear a man-pouch around his waist and felt immediately
better, knowing that if there was going to be a violent, Teutonic
beating that night, it would probably be focused on the wearer of a
man-pouch as opposed to that person's largely pouchless companion.
With my heart
temporarily lifted by these thoughts, we proceeded to floor level,
and into the general admission throng. The crowd was loosely packed,
and we were able to move up and into a pretty good position. Close
enough to feel the heat, but at just enough range to feel reasonably
secure that we would be leaving the show with eyebrows. Did I mention
that Rammstein are famous for the massive amount of pyrotechnics they
use in their shows? Well, they are. Here is a photo I took 30 seconds
in:
And here is another
one from 20 seconds later:
 |
| Miraculously, I still have eyebrows |
So, with a nice
spot staked out, we awaited the band's entrance. And then we waited
some more. At 8:15 I commented that their lack of punctuality goes
against everything they stand for as Germans, and then, pleased with
my cleverness, I tweeted it. Follow me @nervoushospital for more gold
just like that!
Right after that,
the security personnel moved into position at the front of the crowd.
These are the guys who pull crowd-surfers to the ground as safely as
possible and then give them a cookie and send them off to the back of
the crowd, even though they clearly would rather just beat them with
those extendable police batons that Jennifer Lopez uses to beat the
shit out of that one guy in Out of Sight.
As the security
guys moved into position I realized that one of them was a neighbour
of mine, Brian, who works security at MTS Center. As he scanned the
crowd I waved at him and got his attention. We made eye contact, and
after a couple seconds, it registered on him that it was me. I waved
again but all he could respond with was a look that said, “What the
FUCK” while also somehow conveying a Danny Thomas style spit take.
I swear, his look communicated a spit take.
 |
| See? Not ALL of their imagery is violence and fire. |
 |
| Fuck. Never mind. |
Soon, the show
started, and I have to say that it was a good 10-15 minutes before
the first “What the fuck am I doing here?” thought popped into my
head. This occurred when the first person from the mosh pit that
formed directly behind us slammed into my back and almost took me
out. Now I am, as I said, 46 years old. I have never been in a mosh
pit. I have never been in the vicinity of a mosh pit. And upon
my first exposure to one, I admit my first impulse was to move in and
hammer the little fuck who just slammed me. But I am 46, so this
impulse was quickly smothered by the realization that I was wearing
my glasses and no longer have a spare set, so if these ones get
damaged, I'm fucked vision-wise for the next several days. And so,
even though the culprit was not one of the Bane lookalikes, I
turned the other cheek. Just like Jesus would have if Jesus was
wearing his glasses at a Rammstein show and had just been
slammed into by a walking embryo with a faux hawk.
The show continued,
and my thoughts alternated between “this is AWESOME” and “I am
about to die”. We got pretty good at shifting positions to stay
clear of the ever-moving mosh pit. And then a second one opened up on
our other side. After fighting off the same initial panic that those
humans in the loin cloths in Planet of the Apes must have felt
when a new bunch of apes with nets came riding in from the other
side of the corn field and they all gave each other that “We are
now fucked” look, we began a game of human checkers. Whenever the
pit would move in on us we would hop over to an adjacent square. I
put it this way only to perpetuate my terrible checkers metaphor.
Just wanted you to know I was aware.
It soon became
clear that the original pit was clearly the Aryan, and therefore the
more frightening of the two mosh pits. The newer pit appeared to be
filled with people whose moms had dropped them off at the show. There
was a bit of spillover between the two pits, but the scene kid
pit was clearly the less intimidating of the two, and we used that
info to modify our movements, basically skirting the edge of the
scene kid pit as much as possible. At one point I rescued a little
Asian girl from being thrown to the ground, grabbing her by the arm
and hauling her back up before any harm could come to her. She
grinned at me happily and gave me both thumbs up in a “thank you”
kind of way. Then she slammed herself into a blonde haired kid who
went sprawling.
I couldn't help
thinking, though, that the guys in the band must get a bit pissed off
by these people. Rammstein may be a German Industrial Metal band, but
their show is also, in many ways, a performance art piece. And if I'd
worked that hard creating a spectacle on the scale they did, I would
want people to watch the damn show. As opposed to spending the
entire show focused on other sweaty, shirtless bald men with
long chin beards and tattoos and flinging myself into them in an orgy
of amped up male aggression and barely-concealed man-lust that, at
any moment, could conceivably devolve into a mob of dudes violently
stroking each other's dicks with one hand and punching each other's
faces with the other.
So, Aryans and
scene kids alike: next time try watching the nice show. You might
enjoy it. After all, you're still free to come all over each other in
the parking lot afterwards.
