With a few exceptions, heavy metal has traditionally been as bereft of sexiness as it has been of bright, pastel-colored wardrobes, songs about the joys of macramé and "Cat Fancy" subscriptions.
Was this forever changed by the giant, phallus-shaped canon that looked like a cross between a cement mixer and male genitalia that shot white foam all over the crowd at the Thomas & Mack Center on Saturday?
Probably not, but give the leather lovin' Lotharios in the German industrial metal sextet Rammstein some credit for trying, at least.
The song in question was a title too ribald for print, though it doubles as a Lord Byron-worthy paen to the lady folk with such inviting lines as "Steck bratwurst in dein sauerkraut," which translates to "put a Bratwrust in your sauerkraut."
No, the tune was not about Teutonic culinary techniques, though, during the course of its muscular digital throb, certain things did get devoured.
The song's sonics approximated the wild sex the band sang of, all hard, driving rhythmic thrust with a dense tangle of sub-thrash riffing leavened with Depeche Mode-esque synth lines and singer Till Lindemann's basso profundo rumble, which frequently escalates to a stirring upper register bellow.
It sounds like the earthshaking rancor of armed conflict, but unlike most metal bands, there's little to no menace -- articulated or implied -- in Rammstein's carnal, heavy breathing catalog.
The only time these dudes get a little rough is in the bedroom.
The title of their latest disc, "Liebe ist für alle da, translates to "Love is for Everyone," which is tongue-in-cheek, to be sure, but still, it underscores a winking self-awareness and sense of humor that's as hard to find among most hard-edged bands as a fan base heavy on grandmas.
To wit: Lindemann, a champion swimmer in his younger days, has the beefy, thick-shouldered frame of an NFL defensive end, but he deflates his intimidating physical presence with a series of goofy, bug-eyed, Jerry Lewis-worthy faces, wagging his tongue and lumbering about the stage like a drunk Frankenstein.
For the most part, the kind of severe electro metal that Rammstein trades in tends to be about as jovial as an open casket funeral, but this show was as fun as it was fierce-sounding, with enough explosions, flames and things going bang to rival the Battle of Verdun.
Thick clouds of smoke and the distinct, acrid scent of sulfur filled the Thomas & Mack, as sparks rained down from the rafters and plumes of fire shot up from the stage while Lindemann wielded, in succession, a massive rifle that shot explosives, a welding torch and a flamethrower, setting a crew member who acted as if he was a fan invading the stage ablaze at one point.
There were so many sudden, surprise detonations that the crowd continually jumped in their seats, as if they were seeing "The Exorcist" for the first time.
This was porno for pyros for real.
And Lindemann acknowledged as much.
"Kein heroin kein alkohol kein nikotin / Brauch keine hilfe / Kein koffein / Doch dynamit und terpentin," he sang on "Benzin" ("Don't need heroin nor alcohol nor nicotine / I don't need help / Nor caffeine / But I do need dynamite and turpentine.")
He'd explain why a few verses later: "Willst du dich von etwas trennen, dann musst du es verbrennen."
Translation: "If you want to part with something then you have to incinerate it."
And with that, subtlety, restraint and lots of flash pots were reduced to ash.
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