Book Review: ‘Krautrock Eruption’ by Wolfgang Seidel

The term krautrock is a fraught one. The label – applied to a type of music – carries a whiff of bigotry, as “kraut” was a pejorative slur used to describe Germans during World War II. But in its original usage, krautrock wasn’t meant as a slur; it was a way of categorizing the experimental music coming out of what was then West Germany; British record label Virgin Records first employed the term in 1972. Whatever one chose or chooses to call the unique sounds coming out of Deutschland in the late 1960s and early-to-mid ‘70s, there’s no doubting the significance and influence of the music.

While the catch-all term lumps together a wildly diverse collection of artists, krautrock can be said to describe the music of bands like Tangerine Dream, Kraftwerk, Amon Düül II, Cluster, Ash Ra Tempel, Faust, Can, Harmonia, Neu! and La Dusseldorf. Other than Kraftwerk, few of those acts are household names outside of Germany, but their importance is beyond question.

Krautrock doesn’t encapsulate a specific sound or style: where Tangerine Dream made atmospheric, synthesizer-based music, Kraftwerk engaged in a kind of robotic dance music. Neu! pioneered the driving, hypnotic motorik style. Nobody’s quite sure how to characterize what Can or Faust did.

Though krautrock remains a somewhat underground musical strain, its appreciation by the cognoscenti is widespread, and countless artists – well beyond Germany, in fact – have drawn inspiration from the music. It’s impossible to conceive of David Bowie’s critically-acclaimed late ‘70s albums “Heroes,” Low and Lodger existing had it not been for the influence of so-called krautrock artists. Public Image Limited, U2 and Radiohead all owe a significant debt to German music of the relevant period as well. More recently, King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard has made music informed by krautrock.

A handful of important books have attempted to tackle the complicated, messy and somewhat esoteric subject of krautrock. Psychedelic and post-punk hero Julian Cope penned a doorstop of a tome in 1995 with Krautrocksampler: One Head’s Guide to the Great Kosmische Musik – 1968 Onwards. A characteristically idiosyncratic work, it’s nonetheless indispensable for those interested in the subject. Good luck finding it, or being able to afford it if located; Krautrocksampler is (by the author’s design) long out of print.

A year after Cope’s volume, Steve Freeman and Alan Freeman published their own take on krautrock, The Crack in the Cosmic Egg. Fashioned as an encyclopedia of the form, it’s more straightforward than Cope’s book, and would be an essential guide for any listener with an interest in krautrock. It, too, is long out of print and thus pricey when found, though a reasonably-priced DVD-rom version is available. A 30^th anniversary edition of the book is planned for release in 2026.

More recent, easier to find and written in a lively yet authoritative style, David Stubbs’ Future Days: Krautrock and the Birth of a Revolutionary New Music was published in 2014. Reviewers praised the book, some going so far as to call it a “definitive” work on the subject. Inevitably, though, Stubbs – like Cope and the Freemans before him – brought a British perspective to the work. Not that there’s a thing in the world wrong with that, but it does raise a legitimate question: what’s the take on the whole krautrock phenomenon within Germany?

An answer of sorts came with the 2016 publishing of Wir Müssen Hier Raus!: Krautrock, Free Beat, Reeducation. Author Wolfgang Seidel brought solid bona fides to the project; he was a member of pioneering artist Conrad Schnitzler’s band Eruption. Unfortunately for many who’d be interested in Seidel’s perspective, the book was available only in German.

Nearly a decade after that book’s original release, it has received an English translation and a new title: Krautrock Eruption: An Alternative History of German Underground in the 60s and 70s. And that secondary title provides a hint as to Seidel’s approach; he’s not especially interested in chronicling the ups and downs of specific artists or groups. Though he does engage in a bit of that approach, in general, Krautrock Eruption is a fascinating look at the historical and sociopolitical antecedents that gave rise to krautrock. Simultaneous postwar attempts to break free of the specter of the Nazi era and to try and erase it from memory both figured into the creative expression of the generation coming of age in (West) Germany of the late 1960s. Seidel’s exploration of that history – and of efforts to develop home-grown music that didn’t build on pop influences from the U.S. and England – is a canny and incisive one.

Readers new to the concept of krautrock might find a wander into Krautrock Eruption too deep of a dive; they might be best served by first reading a few online essays and reviews and immersing themselves in some of the music. But once the appetite is whetted, time spent in the pages of Wolfgang Seidel’s masterful book will enlighten and fascinate. His approach is authoritative without being unnecessarily scholarly, and the English translation renders his work eminently readable. And the book’s appendix (enumerating a stack of must-hear krautrock albums) is essential and lively reading that will send readers off on new listening adventures.