Musikalisher Mittwoch: Only Works When I’m Too Angry to Think

When I hit a certain level of pissed, I go beyond the point where some laid-back Jimmy Buffett is capable of unwinding me.  I’m angry, livid, out-of-my-head seething….and I have no intention of letting that feeling go.

It is in these moments that I turn into a fan of German heavy metal, including the only such group most Americans know: Rammstein.

There are a few Rammstein songs I can jam to when I’m not in a homicidal rage, but one in particular I can really only deal with when I’m too angry to think about what it’s actually saying, and that’s “Bück Dich.”

The first time I heard the song I was in Dallas traffic that was moving, but full of total assholes who were tailgating, cutting people off, and weaving in and out at excessive speeds.  I had popped in a recently acquired Rammstein album, thinking that “Du Hast” would fit the mood.  It fit, as did some of the following songs, including “Bück Dich” until the point where traffic had thinned out and I was starting to relax.

As I morphed back to a human from being like a mental-Incredible-Hulk whose dearest wish is a top-mounted antitank weapon on the roof of my car, the part of my brain where my college German lessons are stored kicked in.

“Bück dich befehl ich dir / wende dein Antlitz ab von mir / dein Gesicht ist mir egal / bück dich nocheinmal”

Whiskey.  Tango.  Foxtrot.

Did that say what I’m fairly certain that just said?  “Bend yourself over”?  “Your face doesn’t matter to me?”


Yeah.  Therapeutic as it is to hear those creeptastic vocals (if I had to imagine the voice that would most likely make me pee myself if I heard it coming from a dark alley?  The vocalist for Rammstein would have it), and the pounding, grinding music to go with the blinding anger coursing through my veins, it’s only that level of anger-out-of-my-wits that manages to block me from thinking about what the hell the song is actually saying.  I mean, a creepy, angry German man is growling about screwing someone in a very uncomfortable place (Kevin Smith fans chorus “Like the back of a Volkswagen?”) in a very not nice way.

I can’t say I hate the song.  When I’m mad enough that the only part of me that’s tuned to music is a monkey-brain that wants to head bang and doesn’t speak German, it’s perfect.  But the moment I come back to my senses, “Bück Dich” goes back on the shelf.