As far as most people know, 1974’s Autobahn was Kraftwerk’s first album. It’s certainly the one that solidified their image and sound, and as far as the band is concerned, it’s supposed to be their first record.
The truth is something different and far more interesting, however.
Autobahn was actually their fourth album. In fact, the band had been recording since 1970, going through a couple of lineup changes and honing their sound. Autobahn saw them settling on their now-familiar sound, which was largely dominated by computerized instrumentation and robotic vocals. The music was simple and repetitive, but somewhat melodic and catchy. It was certainly ahead of its time, and their influence on modern electronic music (and popular music in general) is still obvious to this day.
But the first three records were something altogether different. The band refuses to acknowledge their existence, and they’ve been out of print for almost 25 years. They were originally pressed by Phillips on vinyl, and the only versions ever issued on CD were bootleg copies on a label called Germanofon (who refer to themselves as “World’s Leading Terrorist State”).
My introduction to their first record came by chance. I was in a secondhand vinyl shop back in the early 90’s, and I found an odd record in the bin billing itself as Kraftwerk. The cover had an image of a red traffic cone and claimed a copyright of 1971.
That couldn’t be right. I asked with the shopkeep, and he was as confused as I was. Bear in mind, this was before the Golden Age of the Internet (brought to you by Al Gore®), so verifying its legitamacy was impossible.
It certainly didn’t sound like Kraftwerk. Well, not exactly. There was certainly a great deal of repetition on the first side, but this version had organic live instrumentation, and quite a bit of guitar.
A couple of years later, I lost my copy, and I ended up coming off like a freak who claims to have seen a flying saucer when I tried to describe it to people. I came to wonder if I’d ever really even had it at all. There was also the possibility that it was just a mislabeled record, but damned if it didn’t feel like them on some level.
Fast-forward to 2006. I was out yesterday, and I dropped into a used-CD store on a lark. 98.43% of the stuff in there is worthless (the late 1990’s were not a good time for popular music), but from time to time, it’s possible to find some unappreciated but out-of-print stuff.
Nothing really piqued my interest, and on my way out, I decided to check out the “$1.99 Last Chance” bin.
There it was. Along with the second one. On CD. Holy cow. Somebody had gone to the trouble of finding and getting these, then sold them to the pimply-faced kid at the used-CD shop. For a dollar.
The first two records (the second was simply called Kraftwerk 2, and had the same cover art, but in green) utilize live instrumentation with quite a bit of studio trickery. Both open with long, repetitive pieces (“Ruckzuck” and “Kling Klang,” respectively) that ride droning bass lines and skeletal motorik beats with sparse ornamentation from guitars and oscillators. In case that second title sounds familiar, it’s because Mouse on Mars would later use it.
The first thing that springs to mind when you hear these is that, well…they sound like Stereolab. Or Tortoise. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one with an old copy. The sound is instantly recognizable, and in their own way, the first two records ended up being just as influential in certain circles as their later work.
Unlike the somewhat monochromatic music that would later become their style, the material on these first records is dynamic and agile. Though the music is heavily adorned with electronics and tape-treatments, its true core lies with the live musicians. Oddly enough, these records hardly sound dated at all.
The first record opens with “Ruckzuck,” which is actually quite bombastic. It rides a steady beat that wouldn’t sound out of place on Transient Random Noise Bursts, but where Stereolab settles into the beat, Kraftwerk only use it as a springboard. The track crescendoes several times, and the tempo gets measurably faster towards the end of the track. Several times, it teeters on the brink of falling apart before the band pulls it back into line. It’s actually quite an exhilirating listen, even today.
“Stratovarius” rides languid waves of guitar feedback and distorted violin over a slower drum pattern, but just as it seems that things are getting placid, the group drops elements here and there to generate tension. There’s no recognizable A-B structure, but they know how to inject enough variation to keep things from getting stale.
“Megaherz” is a beautiful piece that wouldn’t sound out of place on a Keith Fullerton Whitman record. Think of it as a tocatta for low-fi 1970’s electronics. The first half consists of slow washes of organ, which are overlaid with the sound of a telephone ringing. The way it’s treated here, it would be easily mistaken for windchimes. The piece slowly switches into a minor key as quiet waves of guitar feedback and violin enter.
“Vom Himmel Hoch” closes things out. The first four minutes are strictly Forbidden Planet type stuff, with random sine waves and echoes of distorted farfisa. The drums enter, and one of the previous bits establishes itself as the bass line. Instead of settling into a locked-groove, however, the band runs through a series of tempo and volume changes, including (I think) a brief bit of saxophone.
What distinguishes this from their later work (as well as the work of those they’ve influenced) is the fact that the band really cuts loose. I don’t know exactly how to describe it except to say that they actually “rock out” quite a bit here. It’s like nothing they’d ever do again.
Hey, how about that cover, eh?
There are actually quite a few differences between the two records, despite the covers. Like the first, the second record opens with a single side-long track, but the most obvious difference is that the frantic drumming of Klaus Dinger has been replaced with a sedate drum machine. “Kling Klang” is a similar but more tranquil affair than “Ruckzuck,” but it’s not quite as rewarding. The sudden stop/start rhythmic changes of the first album are replaced here by gradual shifts, most likely owing to the presence of the drum machine.
Still, it’s a rewarding track, and the band’s ear for subtle variation and studio treatment serves it well.
“Atem” is a short interlude of musique concrète. “Strom” opens with a surprising distorted guitar that switches timbres to heavily reverbed Sergio Leone. The bass sound is instantly recognizable to anyone who’s heard “Djed” by Tortoise. It’s also quite remniscient of Labradford’s later work. The whole song has a breezy but ominous spaghetti-western feel that oddly enough doesn’t seem the least bit out of place.
The following two tracks stay in the same vein. This is the really weird stuff. Not because it’s dissonant or disjointed, but because it’s really quite beautiful. They’d never do anything like this ever again, and it’s worth hearing here.
The record closes out with “Harmonika,” which is a short piece for treated harmonicas and flute.
Both records follow a similar pattern, but the first is more rhythm oriented, while the second is more melodic. Neither really screams “Krautrock” in the way that the modern stuff does, and both records are really quite unique.
The mastering is very well-done, and it appears they had access to the original tapes, as nothing here sounds grainy or (unintentionally) distorted. They’re certainly worth seeking out, though I’ve seen the prices get pretty ridiculous. If you can find them at anything resembling a decent price, I’d recommend you grab them.