TRIUMUIRAT

TRIUMUIRAT

JUMPIN' JACH FLASH ON THE STREETS OF COLOGNE

PIPER LEIGH

BY

Through a gap in the breastwork he saw then a tiny silver egg with a flame, pure and steady, issuing from beneath, lighting forms of men in suits, sweaters, overcoats, watching from bunkers or trenches. It was the rocket, in its stand; a static test. — Gravity's Rainbow

With all the Kissingerismus, phlebitis and detente abounding, it seemed the time had come to tune in some Kraut Rock. There'd been much to-do of late about these ripe Deutsch fruits on import labels. And now they were all coming over here. Triumvirat, from Cologne, was making a big splash and since they were billed at the Academy of Music it was only a reluctance towards international affairs that made me shy away from the gig. That and the fact that to more than one paranoid Brooklynite, the Academy on Friday night is more like a concentration camp than a rock hall. Since the deck was stacked against "em, though, we decide to shoot on over andT check out postNazi chic.

Downing a bock beer at Glancy's across the street, we plunged into the Black Forest, the bomb bunker. And promptly at eight, the white visitation leapt to the stage, three rogueish Teutons who fell to their axes with Nibelungen fury, not to be confused with the legendary dwarfs: these were big, meaty dudes.

As the slipstreams of Moog, percussion and bell-clear vocals mingled in the dank air, we realized these guys were not to be confused, either, with Amon Duul or Can or the much squeezed Tangerine Dream. Or even that highhoned Anglo-electrode trio, Emerson, Lake, and Palmer. Tightly knit and moody, the Rat was not a prisoner of

their synthesizers. And the hall, waiting for the Blue Oyster Cult (of all bands), was dipping into the high quality weed already, always a good vibe for an opening group.

But what is rock "n" roll coming to? Triumvirat was fairly overweight. They didn't look that good in their body shirts (even thought their "Double Dimple" tune was punk power in action); they would have looked great in pin stripe suits, hurrying out of the West German consulate. Diplomats in disguise ; post Parallax View paranoia.

A few days later, still filled with a nationalistic itch about these weinerschnitzels, I met with Triumvirat over at Capitol Records. In the board room. There were no maps on the walls, no diagrams. But a parking lot-sized black formica-topped table. Jurgen Fritz the giant Hans Brinker-fingered keyboardman, Hans Bathelt and I huddled around one sharp corner of this runway. Helmut Kollen, the bassist and singer, slouched down the block, silently. It had been explained that Helmut doesn't speak English (he only sings it) and therefore would not be participating in the conversation.

"What was it like growing up in Germany? How did you get your rocks off?" It was a question I'd been dying to ask the first German group to come along. And the drummer, Hans, was eager to get into it.

"Totally different, of course." An unmistakeable Strangelove accent to •match his Peter Sellers lovability. "The only music ve vere exposed to' vas classical, folk, and (snicker) the music the army marched to. So ve alvays listened to radio Luxembourg and such. It vas the music of our generation, and I liked it."

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"Yes," agreed Jurgen. "But coming to U.S. I find people arC naturally funky people, the way they valk. The sound of siren in the street going woeeeiiiing, woeeeinnng — a natural synthesizer. Germans alvays valk straight. It's something to do vith the climate, you know."

"But your music doesn't sound at all like Amon Duul's, or Tangerine Dream's?" I interposed, in mind the sonic hums, warbles and synthesized

mashed potatoes from some of Deutschland's finest.

"That is correct!" Hans was right on the ball. "In the early 70s there vasn't much going on in rock and people vanted a bandvagon they could jump on. So they turned to Germany vich vas doing stuff vith synthesizers and a steady rhythm and wery veird things, and it vas called German Rock .. . er, Deutsch Rock .. ." There was a pause. Someone tittered and Hans shouted, "All right. Go ahead and say it — Kraut Rock\"

"The English, they said "play something veird," and so the German bands came out vith something wery veird, spacey. And the people, they said, "A ha! Stockhausen!" But've never played Kraut Rock because it vas fashionable."

"Well then, if you don't care to be associated with Kraut Rock, how do you like being compared to ELP all the time?" A pause. "It's a question of similar line-up," considered Jurgen slowly. "In the end, 1 guess it's not a bad thing: when people say ve sound like ELP. ELP (chuckle) is not a bad group."

Hans: "I von't knock them because they are one of my favorite groups. But ELP are three kinds of superstars and sometimes they are together and sometimes they are not together. Three solists. Doing his own thing. Because if Emerson does this, then Lake says "I must do this now to catch up!" I've seen them about five times li\e." The critiv cism was coming out now, like quick invisible darts. Hans" diction and the way his "w's" were sounding like "v's" and "V's" vice versa, was making my head spin pleasantly. All this precision was sort of sexy — oversized Krauts or not.

"Ah, what's the groupie scene like in Germany?"

"Zere is no groupie scene in Ger: many!"

"Zere are three, or two, groupies in Germany and they are always booked up with the agency who books the American or English bands." Hans looked strained and a sour look spread across even the no-comprendo Helmut's face a half a football field away. "Ve haf no money for groupies in Germany. Ve are too poor." Hans explained that one top An^lo band had to have call girls brought in for them by the record company because there were no groupies around. "No Starship Ones either." Hans was getting worked up into an Aryan anger.

Jurgen leaned forward, his giant corporate face slowly filling up the entire board room. "You see, since ve haf no groupies, ve haf time to take care of our business. And zatt is somezink new for the American business man!" A giant hand slammed down on the table. Yuck Yuck. "It's unbelievable how many mil-

lions are lost in bad contracts."

Few groups write songs, nasty lyricS about the music business. Not like Triumvirat's "Mr. Ten Percent." Why?

"It's phony when you sit down and write about love when you're getting ripped off. It's such a fairy tale."

What kind of fairy tale, Mr. Grimm? "Everything's fine when you're making them money," Hans took off his John Lennon shades. "First you get a big meal. Then drinks. And another drink. Then you chat about TV and football. Then they tell you nice things and then more drinks and then they COME TO THE POINT. Then," says Hans Bathelt, "I don't care any more for the meal."

"Ya," the ball passes to Jurgen, "the managers say "look, you just play your music and we'll take care of the business!" Veil, Triumvirat thinks business is wery interesting. Ve are wery interested in vat's happening, and ve ALWAYS KNOW VAT'S HAPPENING." The hand boomed on the table.

"This is the result of working in Germany." Jurgen's blond face lowered in the committee room. "Because you know ven Germans do things, they do them wery veil. There is a word for it, verkuntlishkeit, and it means doing things perfectly. That was wery new for American businessmen.

"Ve vere suprized by the press bio they made up for us." Jurgen fingered the poop sheet laid out like a tabloid. The 48 point red headlines blared forth the word "ACHTUNG!"

"Yes," Jurgen continued sadly, "and they summed it up by saying "so on and so forth . . . the music of Herr Fritz." You see, even then they couldn't let us just be musicians.. "Fritz" is the model German name, everybody in America know. And they didn't just say "Fritz," or Mr. Fritz, or Jurgen. But Herr Fritz. It's so funny. Ve vere all born after the War and I know the War nostalgia thing is all over, the world. And it's even in the record industry. Is that all the Americans identify with? Nazis? Storm Troopers?"

The Blue Oyster Cult was brought up. The Dictators. But those quasineurotic metal hybrids meant nothing to the rock and rollers from Cologne. "Next time ve play we'll have' tanks rolling in the background," Hans smiled, true punk devil in his eyes. "Ve vill have an arch and a sawastika and uniforms. The record company might think this up. If l would tell them, they would do it. The kids would love iL New fascist rock group from Germany! Communist too! People would interview us and ask us if we'd seen Hitler tecently."

"Yah, he's working in Germany as a coal miner." Jurgen rubbed his hands.

"Yes and ve would bomb the stage at the end of the show."