Rammstein: Liebe Ist Für Alle Da

Find us a man or woman who physically enjoys the sound of front-man Till Lindemann's vocals for Rammstein, and we'll show you a newscaster who has been transmogrified into a duck.

A person capacity to enjoy Rammstein, therefore, is directly proportional to their ability to karaoke-ise the song as it filters through their auditory system. While tolerable when performing the band's usual shtick of shouting vaguely-threatening German words during the chorus, it nails on the chalkboard/Mariah Carey in the recording studio time when Lindemann actually attempts to sing.

Two of Liebe's more sensitive pieces, "Fruhling in Paris" (stop laughing, it doesn't mean *that*) and finale "Roter Sand" showcase the very weakest links in the band. Whether it be the tonal qualities of the German language to foreigners, or just Lindemann's vocals as a whole, when it's not pantomimic, it's just plain disconcerting. We had Tokio Hotel through here a few weeks back, and they didn't make our skin crawl one bit.

That said though, when you have these lyrics to work with, it's akin to conjuring diamonds from a portaloo. Take the charmingly titled "Pussy" (this means *exactly* what you think) which serenades the ladies with prose worthy of a poet "You've got a pussy / I have a dick / So what's the problem? / Let's do it quick". We believe we saw that line recently in "Rape Defence in the Court of Law For Dummies". Don't ask why we were reading it, it's a long story involving a freemasonry, six litres of Mountain Dew and the little-known flammable properties of radioactive isotopes.

When the band are in their comfort zone though, so are we. It terms of aggressive industrial-rock littered with double-bass drumming and kinesis-inducing riffs, it's hard to fault the band. Perhaps it is a formula so stringent that the audience would benefit from shorter-form exposure, but Liebe is still enjoyable enough.

"Rammlied", "Waidmanns Heil", title track "Liebe Ist Für Alle Da" and "Mehr" likely fill this quotient the best without causing undue embarrassment. Lingering on the latter song for a minute, we'd like to make the rare move of praising the vocals in the album. Throwing off the alienating eccentricities for once, Lindemann manages to enter a vocal range which could be accurately described as "singing". A genuine melody is present, his tone doesn't induce nausea: we'd call that a win.

Just like you'd never go to a pantomime expecting Shakespeare, you'd never go to a Rammstein album expecting serious musicianship. Suspend your disbelief though, and you'll find a moderately pleasant way to spend an hour or so.