KRAFTWERK: AUTOBAHN

K

KRAFTWERK

AUTOBAHN

A warm welcome, bold voyager, to Drunken Vinyls, aka DrunkenVinyls or DeeVees for short, from here at DVHQ. You have inadvertently walked into the most happening place in town – for here do we get out those delicious pitch black slabs of precious plastic and give them one last spin before throwing them into the skip. 

Revisiting the past is painful, because it reminds us of opportunities lost or the willful vandalism of a better history by the uncaring public. ‘Buy the fake and sell what’s real’, the clarion call of hip eighties super-group Buggles is most appropriate here. We despair each week, get drunk and then come out the other side refreshed and rejuvenated having been absolved of all sins; you with your PMSL, Blueberries, sexting and Real California Housewives. Actually one of us is quite jealous of the sexting.

Of course, all this vinyl playing is just a pathetic attempt to rediscover our youth. We repent us of our fury that we did not grow up to be pop stars but ended up here instead, raging, raging against the dying of the light. One of us admits to this and I’ll let him take up the story:

“Well y’see, it was many years ago now, many years since what I got me heart broken in two. I knew I couldn’t do the high parts, you see, but I was all right on the low notes, so I’d learnt all the words to ‘S Club Party’ ready for me big break. The low words. “There ain’t no party like an S Club Party; There ain’t no party like an S Club Party,” I’d repeat, over and over again. I even wrote it on me hand. ‘Scuse me while I get me hanky. Anyhow I wrote them a letter and started rehearsing ‘Don’t stop moving to the funky funky beat’ really low, like, I mean you couldn’t get more low than my voice, you really couldn’t; I said if you changed your name to S Club 8, I could get in and just stand at the back a bit, unobtrusive like, it would be my big break. Like Jim Davidson. But not really him, you know? But they never got back to me – and I’d already told my mates that I was in. Then, and this really pisses me off, they changed it to S Club 8 anyway, but without ME.”

This and many other stories of heart break will be available in our new book: “It’s Not About the Technics, You Know?”

Having said that – are YOU set up? No? Well get a wiggle on, won’t you, we want to crack open a bottle of rum.

K

KRAFTWERK

AUTOBAHN

Setting Up Time

Where would we be without motorways, eh? I’ll tell you where. Probably in a tail back on the A458 near Chipping Sodbury.

Cultural Primer: Motorways were invented by German visionary Klaus Von Cockhoodenpuller in 1882. They were giant highways in the sky and thus painted blue by multi coloured artists and were initially utilised to convey all manner of goods by horse and cart. In 1969 they were immortalized by Baron Pony VonTrapp in the song ‘You are M16 going on M17’ in the well loved musical ‘The Sound of Trams’. Vastly different today, the blue has remained nevertheless, in a tribute to a bygone age.

Despite being a wonderful invention, it will surprise you to know that Motorways get very depressed – due to the fact that they have many enemies here in Great Britain. It will further surprise you to learn that, unusually, we here at DeeVees consider the enemies of the motorways our enemies too. As Lieutenant Commander Worf was wont to say: ‘Drink not with thine enemy’ or ‘Mine enemy’s enemy is mine friend’. Unusual because, as regular readers will attest, our mission here is to roll back the future to a happier, more innocent time, before Blueberries, texting and PMSL became appropriate language for a Parliamentarian. But we’ve witnessed ‘Swampy’

Yes, ‘Swampy’. The self proclaimed eco-warrior who chained himself to trees and buried himself in vast underground earthenware chamber pots in order to prevent the great M3 unification project across Twyford Down – home to a rare species of moth, butterfly or some such. He would claim to be an eco-warrior; most would assert that he was an ego-twat and that the only ‘eco’ that interested him was the ‘eco’ made by the sound of his own self important, monotonous and affected voice as it boomed around his do it yourself burial mound, threatening, but alas failing, to cause some fatal subsidence. If Swampy still exists, we would gamble good British pounds that he is, even now, using the M3 in a large Range Rover, illegally texting dribbling drivel to ‘British Hip Hop Artist and Guru to a Generation Reveal’ on his Blueberry on his way to help his new best chums outside St Paul’s.

Some British schoolchildren at the time had the presence of mind to compose a cutting and satirical playground chant in his honour thus: “Swampy Swampy you’re so cool; Swampy Swampy with your large digging tool. Swampy Swampy with stupid hair; If your trench falls in you’ll have no air.” Unfortunately it is alleged that Reveal, failing to see the irony and hailing it as a great piece of work, turned it into a charity rap single to raise money for threatened bats. Available on Spotify for months, the money literally dribbled in.

With a resigned sigh, it would appear that all our lives we have been beleaguered with endless groups of protesters chaining themselves to pubic, sorry public - we meant public, institutions. There were those green ham women that chained themselves to some missiles somewhere or other, those bloody fishermen endlessly jumping up and down blowing whistles and waving flags who shout ‘we are proud, we are proud’ once a year near where we live, incommoding the innocent bystanders; and now, the very latest turds on the waterpipe, so to speak, are those wretched squatters who’ve pitched some tents near a cathedral in London. It strikes us that all these people have something in common: they are able to do this whilst most of us are at work. Have you noticed that, people? Have you? 

Furthermore the jolly campers at Camp Pou claim to be in opposition to something. They’re not terribly sure what it is – but they are sure they are against something – most probably some damp, urine sodden canvas, we think, judging from the liberal amounts of soiled toilet tissue they chuck around with gay abandon. No, we lie, they are against capitalism. Capitalism. Oh certainly they are. But do they know what it means? Well, to be sure, of course they do – which is why they spend infinite amounts of time debating it in Starbucks over a skinny-latte-moccachino before taking a golden arches McDump in the adjacent burger outlet.

Bastards.

Anyway, if they ever got their heads from out of their arses, they’d realise that Britain is in terminal decline - and in no small measure due to their apathetic squatting activities. But not us. We don't sit around admiring the contents of our handkerchiefs and congratulating ourselves on a jolly good sneeze. So fear not, Great Britain, we here at DVHQ have ridden to your rescue once again. As is our usual practice we are replete with rather splendid money making ideas to help you out of the slough of despond and back up to the 'cresta' of a wave. Oh, it’s frothy man, it really is.

Here’s your friend and ours, Noel Edmonds, with details of how you can make more money than you can eat!

BUILD YOUR OWN MOTORWAY SERVICES AND COIN IT IN!!!

K

KRAFTWERK

AUTOBAHN

What’s The Story?

It’s a long story and thus requires a précis. German Kraut Rockers, Kraftwerk (which means factory) (someone told us that, it may well not be true) (Although maybe that’s where Factory record label came from), pioneers in electronic synthesiser pop (syntheepop for short) (or electrosynth) had been watching the expansion of the British motorway system for some time now and had noticed that each motorway, when struck precisely with a hammer and recorded on a portable cassette recorder, had a slightly different note, the frequency sometimes modulating up or down by as much as a semitone or even more:

Ralf: Ja vol, mein Florian. Have you the hammer implement?
Florian: Yes mein chum, I have placed it so.
Ralf: But where is Helmut?
Florian: On my head, Ralf, mein altum kumpel
Ralf: Ziss is a very funny joke mein pal, I laugh like ze schnellzug
Florian: Yes we possess a gut zense of zee humour.
Ralf: Observe ze process, Florian. I hit the tarmac just so.

Florian: Yes, Ralf, ziss is most interesting, mein old chum

Ralf: You must now record eet with precision Florian.

Florian: I am now holding zee portable microphone so, Ralf, mein pal.

Ralf: Incredible

Florian: Yes, mein chum, a semitone higher zan zee M2 at Farthing Corner

Ralf: We must record ziss process so.

Florian: Achtung, achtung. A new section of zee M1 has now opened today.

Ralf: Donner und blitzen. We must go there unmittelbar, Florian mein chum.

So it came to pass, with thanks to our fine German pioneers, a new genre was born – Tarmac-rock – and its greatest recording was the unsurpassable ‘Autobahn’. There were of course, other notable records inspired by the precision striking of motorways with a hammer:

 THE NOT QUITE TEN COMMANDMENTS OF DRUNKEN VINYLS

1. Thou shalt play both sides of the record in their entirety
2. Thou shalt drink one can of Fosters or its alcohol equivalent per song
3. Thou shalt record ramblings as they occur to thee for the duration of the running time
4. Thou shalt edit out the swearing the next day
5. Thou shalt not suffer a Blueberry user to live

All set up, are we? Well hit the road, Jack, with your toffee hammer, because we’re ready to break rocks!

K

KRAFTWERK

AUTOBAHN

Side One

"Autobahn"

Well, twenty two minutes of conceptual heaven begins with a car starting as arranged for synthesiser and toilet. Then a dalek turns up and repeats ‘Autobahn’ a few times. A bass line synthesiser repeats a very regular – almost precisely programmed – too precise, perhaps – line. The melody rises and falls and reproduces a Doppler effect whilst someone chants ‘Fun fun fun on the Autobahn’ at least we think that’s what it is. It’s in German.

In the second movement, presaged by another Doppler effect, the tempo picks up and some manic flautist – well not really a flautist, a faux flautist of the electronic trouser type, rises and falls like a seabird pecking idly at a motorway service station dustbin. Ah, we see what they did there.

Still quite a bit to go, we notice. Press on, Jeeves.

We’re at the third movement now, but it’s a repeat of the first: ‘Fun fun fun on the Autobahn’ again. We can’t really tell what Florian is singing, if he had any consideration, he could have provided some sort of universal translator with the record, but no. Not a bit of it

Doppler effect – this can only mean another movement, the melody has dropped out now but the dalek, happily, is back. This really consists of simulated farting noises, like cars and parping horns and a repetitive bass synth. Gastrically quite humorous, surprisingly. Did we say surprisingly? Sorry. Not much in the way of a lyric – we long for the dalek, yearn for him, ache for him. Instead, here comes more passing wind.

We await the fifth movement with keen anticipation. Here it comes. Ah. Sadly it’s the first movement again and here it is now: ‘Fun fun fun on the Autobahn, Fun fun fun on the Autobahn’ – but – wait! The driver is tuning in some sort of a radio and ‘Fun fun fun on the Autobahn’ is at once louder and yet quieter, like mysterious voices drifting in and out on the ether, on, as they say, the airwaves. Need a drink.

Doppler effect: Must mean movement six, the ‘Fun fun fun on the Autobahn’ has slowed to a nauseating crawl, now – are they in a traffic jam? If they turned to Luxembourg 208, they might pick up ‘Plastic Bertrand’ singing ‘Ca Plank Pour Moi!’ Hurray. Well what do you know? The tempo is going up, up, up! I think we’re in for a German climax anytime soon – actually this bit is reminiscent of ‘On The Run’ by Pink Floyd – except, except it’s the endless ‘Fun fun fun on the Autobahn’ reminding us that we’d quite like to have some fun too.

Oh well, 22 minutes of barmy German madness comes to its conclusion. I wonder what awaits on the other side?

Side Two

"Kometenmelodie 1"

Unpromising start at best – a strange soundscape that reminds of nothing so much as Space 1999 with Barbara Bain and Martin Landau. We remember one where – for no good reason – they all became cavemen and started singing songs around a camp fire. Then there were some talking trees called ‘We are the Rules of Luton’. Every so often, these three pine trees would turn up and shout at Commander Koenig ‘Obey the Rules of Luton’. Why? We cannot say. He should have cut them down with a mighty bow-saw and be done with it. Or question them about their origins – bloody Luton. Have you been there? This is very trying indeed.

"Kometenmelodie 2"

Well there wasn’t much ‘melodie’ in the last song – consisting, as it did, of some irritating and repetitive whistling. But this one is a bit nicer, just ever so slightly, very Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark. We’re very happy to notice that this side seems a lot shorter than the other one, too. The synthesiser continue to rise and fall in various scales, like the scales of a fish newly escaped from our favourite shop and yours – Macfisheries.

"Mitternacht"

This song alludes to mittens, as you may notice from its title, when translated into English; it reads ‘Mittens Night’. Useful advice on a cold evening, too. We recommend that you get yours attached to some string and thread them through the sleeves of your duffle coat, too. That way you will never lose them and they will always remain of use. The music, too, is bleak and cold – like somebody precisely hitting a motorway with a mallet, subsequently recording it on a cheap device and then double tracking it. No, we’ll tell you what it sounds like, it is like some kid hitting the lower keys of a piano randomly whilst pressing the loud pedal with their right foot then turning to a beamingly proud parent as if to say ‘Am I not clever?’ ‘No’ ‘You are Devo’.

"Morgenspaziergang"

Ah-ha! The finale, great, some randomly recorded radio feedback to vaguly resemble bird song. Well perhaps – the seagulls have returned with a vengeance to take their place at the top of the tree. So exciting is this that we spent most of it on the toilet like some protestors outside St Paul’s. Allow us to throw the soiled tissue in the direction of a passing padre, if you will.

Bastards. Utter bastards.

What Have We Learnt Tonight?

Another record done, another vinyl nearer to the end of our lives, another one skipped – as in put in the. Well, to be fair, it didn’t skip, it played most beautifully. And what have we learnt today? Motorways are your friends. They just want to meet you, take you home and love you. There aren’t enough of them. We want more of those friendly blue lines on our maps. And service stations are great, aren’t they? We particularly like the cheap tents and England Football paraphernalia that choke up their forecourts and – while the petrol may be a little more expensive therein, it’s a small price to pay, isn’t it?

Oh and never change your lover in the middle of the night. Night, all!