Düsseldorf: Day two / Ether

I returned to Café Eleven, the place I found yesterday, for my breakfast this morning. Happily, the proprietor didn't seem too disappointed by the return of me and my attendant efforts at German, and I ordered a coffee and the amazing roll that you can see in my Extra. 

Happy though I was with both my breakfast and my German, I was feeling mildly anxious because today I had resolved to return to the site of Kling Klang Studio.

To recap...

Firstly, Kling Klang Studio was where Kraftwerk recorded all of their albums, occupying the space from 1970 until 2007. The building is entirely nondescript and I've visited it a couple of times before, as detailed somewhere in the history of this Blip account. 

Secondly. the little unit pictured in today's Blip is an Ether, made by a company called Soma. It takes electrical waves - Stromwellen - and converts them into sound. For a while, probably since I actually bought it, I had this fantasy of recording some of the electrical signal from Kraftwerk's erstwhile studio. 

However, I've realised since having the unit that what you need to get a decent signal is for something to be using the electricity. So, my idea of recording the electricity from what I hoped would be the same wiring as in Kraftwerk's day, was a bit flawed; I'd really only get a signal from a device that was using the current. 

Anyway, I'd committed myself to going and I guessed I would just play it by ear. 

So, I walked 'round to Mintropstraße and went into the courtyard where the studio was located. As I was worried about losing my nerve, I went straight up the steps to the door. There was one doorbell, which I rang.

After a longish wait, a young guy came to the door. In my carefully rehearsed German, I explained that, firstly, I was only learning the language, so apologies for speaking slowly, but I was a fan of Kraftwerk, I knew this was their former studio, and could I come and record the electricity? 

Replying in perfect English, and not looking too worried by the apparent lunatic on his doorstep, the chap explained that his office was upstairs and that the door to my left led to the old studio. Perhaps I could try there?

So, I did, knocking on the plain, black door, which was promptly opened by a young woman. Inside was a thoroughly modern studio, with a single workstation and large overhead monitor. 

I explained the reason for my visit and, understandably, she gave me a 'this wasn't covered in my employment contract' kind of look. She said her boss was in a meeting and wouldn't be back until four, if I'd like to come back then.

I made my exit back out to the courtyard and wondered what to do; I felt my emotional strength was exhausted. I thought I would probably summon up the energy for a second go but, in case I didn't, I thought I'd just try and record the signal of a large electrical cable leading into the building.

So, there I was, headphones on, Zoom recorder in one hand, Ether in the other, recording some signals, when I saw a couple of guys emerge from a building on the opposite side of the courtyard. They approached and then maintained a respectful distance as I finished what I was doing.

The older chap was, as I suspected, The Boss. I explained what I was doing, whilst failing to effectively communicate a subtext suggesting that this was not a weird thing to be doing on a Wednesday afternoon. 

Well, he turned out to be a nice guy. He said that a lot of people came to visit the site of the old studio, from places even as far away as Texas. Was that the sole reason I'd come to Düsseldorf? No, I explained, I visited every so often as I was learning German, but, actually, I had been to Mintropstraße before. 

He went on to explain that when he took on the lease, Florian Schneider had said to him that he didn't want the building to become a museum or a place of pilgrimage. 

(Now that did interest me, because the two principle members of Krfatwerk came from reasonably affluent backgrounds. Indeed, Florian's father was Paul Schneider-Esleben. I wonder if Florian actually owned the building?)

Anyway, back to the present, and the agreement with Florian was why he really couldn't let people just turn up and come in. Well, sure, I replied, of course you should stick by the agreement and honour Florian's wishes. 

While we'd been talking, I'd been wrestling with the Tetris-like exercise of getting the Ether, the Zoom, my headphones, and the various cables back in my shoulder bag. Now, though, I was just about sorted, so I thanked him again for his time and apologised for disturbing him, and made to leave.

But I sensed some hesitation and then he said maybe I could just come inside, but no photos. "SURE" I replied with no composure whatsoever, "That would be fantastic". And so we went back up the steps, through the vestibule, and into the space that once was Kling Klang Studio.

So now I had two things going on: dealing with being in this hallowed space whilst also being a polite fifty-seven year old. I asked him what they did here, and he replied that they did soundtrack work for films and adverts. 

He went on to say that they had built their studio within the shell of the old studio, so, for example, I could still see the distinctive old wood frames around the windows. And there they were, just like in the photos. I resisted the urge to reach out and touch them. (He also mentioned, to my disappointment, that the place had been completely rewired.)

Warming to his topic, he told me that there was still some of the old soundproofing - also very distinctive - up in one of the store rooms at the back. Would I like to see it? God, yes. 

So we went through and as he was talking, he reached out to touch it in a way that seemed to be giving me permission, too. So I did. And, of course, I imagined all of the sounds that had bumped up against the hilly material. It was all getting hard to process. 

Part of me could have stayed all day, but another bit was feeling awkward, so I made to leave, all the time thanking them profusely. As he opened the door, the boss guy pointed to two small strip lights set into the base of the door frame. Kraftwerk has fitted them, he explained, but they'd never removed them. 

The next fifteen seconds - or maybe it was just five seconds, I don't know - are simply missing from my memory. I know I wouldn't have asked but I remember him saying "How long would you need?"

"Less than a minute."

So, shaking like crazy, I unpacked my bag, wired everything up, and for thirty blissful seconds I recorded the sound of electricity flowing through some actual equipment that was fitted by Kraftwerk themselves, and that would have been here when the studio was Kling Klang. 

Incredible. Unbelievable. 

So, then the boss chap, the other guy, and the young woman all had a listen and asked me what I would do with the sound. (I will spare you all that nerdiness.)

And then I was on my way, still shaky, and I walked up Mintropstraße until I found a place to sit down and text the Minx.