Wolfgang Flür, Edinburgh review: 'the definition of a proud old raver'
Wolfgang Flür’s long-standing obsession with a primarily kitsch and nostalgic brand of Germania clearly endures, writes David Pollock
Wolfgang Flür, La Belle Angele, Edinburgh ★★★
It’s been nearly 40 years since Wolfgang Flür was in Kraftwerk, but his solo live set is still built for anyone with an interest in a European, specifically Germanic retro-futurist aesthetic. The visual backdrop for this latest tour was especially interesting, a series of diverse short films which reinforced this appeal.
There were images of Flür marching in a Teutonic helmet next to global landmarks during Electronic Germany, with visual tributes to 20th century periodical style during Magazine and icons of German film during Cinema.
Global Youth’s backdrop juxtaposed wholesome images of German youth with turbulent scenes of protest, while later there were uncanny valley images of modern robots and a weird AI visual of glamorous women shopping during Posh.
The music itself sat in its own weird temporal hinterland. Kraftwerk were electronic pioneers, but now feel like a nostalgia trip. Flür’s own style has moved on significantly, meanwhile, but electronics are now the norm and no wheels were reinvented here. His set was a very decent bunch of modern-sounding instrumental techno tracks, largely drawn from recent albums Magazine 1 and this year’s Times, with an inflexible, club-ready bassline bleeding from song to song.
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In person the 78-year-old Flür is the definition of a proud old raver, hands slicing the air in part-dance, part conducting movement from behind his trestle table of equipment. He wore a smart black shirt and tie, with unreadable red LCD text scrolling across his breast pocket; a Kraftwerk look, to go with the classic footage of the band during I Was a Robot and the digitised inflatable tube man in similar regalia during Beat Perfecto.
The set ended on silent cinema scenes of a zeppelin on its way to bomb London, followed by a projected declaration of apology for this, alongside the slogan “for music, no war”. Flür’s long-standing obsession with a primarily kitsch and nostalgic brand of Germania clearly endures.
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