body

Last Sunday night, I got home from watching Borat with Sean, and didn’t feel like going to bed yet. To sooth my savage soul, I chose music.

Every once in a while, I give myself a Ramm-o-fest, where I listen to every Rammstein album, in order. I’d just finished spending a few days with both Herzeleid and Sehnsucht. Mutter was next, an album I usually think of as unspectacular and uninteresting. I almost skipped over it, but decided to give it a go, in favour of continuity.

Sometimes I amaze myself with how wrong I am.

The only reason I don’t care much for Mutter is that it was the first Rammstein album I ever bought, and I spent months and months during high school listening to nothing else. The same twelve songs looped ad infinitum.

It was, naturally, this album that swayed my musical tastes in the direction they have since taken.

After not having heard it in a long time, I was shocked by Mutter. I was acoustically assaulted, subjugated and dominated. I fell victim to elemental forces.

I was particularly amazed by the guitar parts. They were a solid wall of pure emotion; they were weapons more than instruments. They were lovers more than sounds.

I found myself wishing that the sound of my voice could be like that, that when I opened my mouth guitar riffs would come out.