Rammstein

Columbia halle rammstein.png
Photo by Michael Hess

A rare night out last Friday night. It takes a long time to turn off the mum brain. Instead of, yeah, woo, rock on, here were some of the things that went through my head as I watched Stahlzeit (Rammstein cover band) at Columbia Halle the other night:

  • The bass player looks cool, standing there high on the stage, holding his bass like a chainsaw and throwing his hooded head forward and back.
  • His arms are really white and he has no tattoos. He’s in a heavy metal band. Maybe tattoos have had their day. Now it’s in to have no tattoos. Maybe I’m back in fashion.
  • How does his black hood stay on his head with all that moshing? Does he have to use hair clips? Sellotape? Glue? Do his bandmates laugh at him for doing this?
  • Those giant flames shooting to the ceiling, they make you hot immediately, even when you’re standing at the back.
  • The kerosene fumes can’t be good for your lungs. They’re making me cough. I’m having to breathe through clumps of my hair. No one else is doing this. No one else is even coughing. Am I going to get lynched for being a wimp? I need to leave. I can’t leave. I never heard of anyone dying from fumes at a heavy metal gig.
  • I’m so glad the kids aren’t here so I don’t have to worry about them being poisoned too.
  • I wonder if they look like this on their days off? Do they wear black, or neon, or plaid? Do they have rock-star attitude when they’re off duty, or do they just blend in? They’re a cover band: does that always make them feel a little less like a real band? Would I recognise any of them on the U-Bahn.
  • The guy beside me with the grey mullet looks scary. He’s got a skull and crossbones sewn onto the back of his denim jacket, and a black cross on the collar. He’s nodding with a just a hint of his headbanging past, but enough to show he means it. His wife/girlfriend is dancing in front of him, and every so often he reaches out to hold her hair like a pony tail. Like, not a ponytail, but a real pony’s tail. Like he owns her. I inch a little to the left.
  • Are they nazis? I so hope not. It didn’t occur to me before, but now with all this weird military acting and costumes, flame-throwing, and (very bad taste) suicide belt, do they have leanings into a political direction in which I don’t want to lean?
  • As bizarre as this experience is, I realise that I am dancing and have a massive grin on my face. I’m also the only person in this room with a massive grin on my face.
  • That man who just put his arms around my waist as he went past. He didn’t get the #metoo memo. I remember that stuff used to happen all the time at gigs, but now we women are empowered and don’t put up with that. He circles around to come back again, and this time puts his arms around my friend’s waist, then moves forward again. This is not on. We mentally punch him in the face, but do nothing.
  • Will I die?

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